Can't Help It
by OkThat'sCool
Summary: I'm through with the male gender. I mean, can you blame me? They've been nothing but jerks to me since I developed breasts. I want nothing to do with them. But then why can't I stop thinking about Ethan Freaking Bennet!  P&P as told by a female Darcy
1. Heartbreak Hotel

A story for you guys. Something that just popped in my head. Nothing too crazy, just a reverse P&P from a female Darcy POV. Hope you like it. Hope I can find time to update it. Bear with me. Oh and enjoy!

* * *

**Can't Help It**

"_Well since my baby left me_

_I've found a new place to dwell_

_It's down at the end of lonely street_

_That Heartbreak Hotel."_

Chapter 1

I don't know when I became so bitter about love. Maybe it was a Friday—his name was Michael, he was in a band. Or maybe his name was Bobby and he took my virginity in the back seat of his mother's Volkswagen then had sex with another girl the same night. Or maybe it was Kevin with his big eyes and ability to make me laugh, even while telling me he suddenly has a girlfriend that he'd failed to mention.

I wouldn't go so far to say that I've ever been in love. I mean, there have been guys I liked, but when they kick me out of their bed at four in the morning I'm typically emotionally unaffected. I mean, sometimes. Or at least mostly. I'm working on it, at least.

Ok so, my track record with the male gender is enough to turn any sane girl into a lesbian or a nun. But I'm not sane. Not even in the slightest. Even still, no matter how crazy I may be, there is one thing I swear above all else in the universe: I will never fall in love.

"Darcy. I'm in love."

My best friend, Charley, however, has no such resolution. She and I have, together, been kicked, insulted and just generally ignored by the male gender since we were four. She tried to kiss her first love, Kurt Swavosky, on the playground in pre-k, he told her she had cooties and made her cry, and I pushed him into the sand box. We've been best friends ever since. End of story.

But despite our history, we couldn't be more different. She's a goddamn powder puff girl while I'm more ninja turtle. She was a cheerleader in high school; I was editor of the school paper. She liked Corey Matthews*, I was way into Shawn. She falls in love once a week, I'm more like… ok, never.

"Again?"

She's laying on my bed, staring dreamily at my ceiling. I don't see what she's looking at. It's just covered in those obnoxious glowy stars that only seem to glow on nights you can't sleep. "He's wonderful," she sighs to no one in particular.

Obnoxious, isn't she? "You're not in love."

"Not Love-Love, but I am in love."

She sits up, staring at me. I stare back over my book (_Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_). She's waiting for me to ask. I know she is. I've known her 19 of my 23 years now. I'm not stupid. "No, you're not," I just repeat, breaking eye contact and returning my attention to my book. "Aren't we getting too old for this?"

"Please! Just let me tell you my story!" she pleads. She is always bursting with stories. I mean, constantly. And every time we both hope it's going to be different, but every time we both end up on the sofa with another pint of Hagen Daaz discussing the fact that he "was a jerk anyway". But while I'm quite ready, even at my very young age, to admit that fairy tales are a sham; Charley here is still searching desperately for Prince Charming.

I give in, though. Honestly, it's useless. She's going to tell me anyway, and I secretly want to listen, because, at least for her, I want this one to be different. I toss my book upside down on my desk and give her my full attention. She dives in without me even asking.

"So I was coming home from work and I was on my bicycle at that weird section of Broadway, you know the really scary crossing?"

I nod.

"Anyway! This car comes out of nowhere and just—BAM! His me."

I jump and immediately start examining her for wounds. "What the fuck? Are you ok? How did you not mention—"

"Yeah, yeah fine." She brushes it off. "Anyway. The guy who hit me, well, he was really cute—like really, really cute. And he felt so guilty he insisted he give me a ride home. And we got to talking and, long story short, I'm in love."

Silence.

"Really though. Are you sure you're ok?"

"Oh god. You're just like him." She starts pulling her ginger hair back into a ponytail, sweeping her bangs off her face to reveal a golf-ball sized lump on her forehead. "I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm fine."

I jump up from my chair and force her head into a position which allows me to examine her wound, my mouth open in shock.

"I'm fine," she protests. "Really." She finally wrenches me off of her and pulls her bangs back down in front of her head.

I glare for a second. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"Ok, mom." She sulks for a second before snapping back to it. "You didn't let me get to the best part!"

"The best part of almost getting killed?"

She rolls her eyes, clearly telling me to shut up. "He is on an Ultimate Frisbee team. They need girls. So… I signed us up!"

"What?" I'm jumping out of my chair again. "I'm not playing Frisbee." I leave the room before she can protest.

Sadly, she follows. "It'll be fun!" she complains as I cross into our tiny kitchen and begin rummaging through the pantry for food. Chips. Excellent. I tare them open as she continues to wail. "Please, please, please, Darcy! Just this once?"

I shake my head and shove a handful of chips into my mouth. "I haptemspots."

"What?"

I swallow and repeat. "I hate team sports."

"Oh come on!" She pulls her big eyes. Ugh. She's such a ginger bitch and I hate her I really do.

"No."

She changes tactics and follows me and my bag of chips into our living room where I plop down on the couch and begin rummaging through my closest stack of books. "You owe me one, Darcy!"

I stop. Owe her one? I look up at her questioningly.

"Remember that night with Tom the weird looking Nihilist that you found 'charming'?"

I shudder. In retrospect, probably a bad call.

"And remember how you said that you would do anything for me if I went to that weird German play—"

"_Waiting for Godot_ is not—"

"And I went and sat through hours of you two flirting at the after party?"

I frown. "What's your point?"

She grins. "My point is: Welcome to the Frisbee team, Darcy Fitzpatrick."

* * *

*Corey Matthwes and Shawn are characters from the iconic sitcom "Boy Meets World". Educate yourself.


	2. Loser

Can't Help It

"I'm a loser baby

So why don't you kill me."

Just when you think your life can't get any worse, you find yourself being dragged to the local park at an ungodly hour on a weekend, by a best friend you're not even sure why you continue to talk to, to play a sport you wouldn't even consider a sport.

I dragged my feet across the parking lot after reluctantly hoisting myself from my car while Charley stood nearby literally jumping from foot to foot in excitement.

"Please?" I tried one last time before she could officially drag me out onto the field.

"Go," she replied heartlessly, pointing to a group of athletically dressed guys in the distance. "Besides, maybe you'll like one. They look cute."

"The last thing I need is another guy in my life," I shot back with a yawn.

"Because you have so many?" she laughed in reply. "What? Is your monogamous relationship with your vibrator not working out?"

"No, it is. That's the point," I replied with a sneer. She thinks she's so funny. "And it's too early for you to be making fun of me for doing you a favor."

"Yes. I'm eternally grateful." She rolled her eyes again.

"Bitch."

She just laughed in reply then allowed her attention to wander as she heard a voice across the pitch call out her name. "Ooh. That's him. Isn't his voice sexy?"

"Turned me to butter," I muttered dryly but she just grabbed my hand and began to drag me briskly towards the group of guys.

"You made it," a cute blonde one said, stepping forward from the crowd to greet us. He had a nice smile, dimples, and a short spikey hair style going on. Basically, Charley's type to a tee, but even I would admit this one was cute.

"Yeah sorry we're a bit late," she apologized stepping up right beside him. "Darcy here was in hysterics about her vibrator."

"What the fuck!" I exclaimed, glaring at her with all the force I could muster. Most of the guys laughed with good humor and I decided to direct my glare at them instead of Charley, only just noticing the small crowd of young men watching me and Charley expectantly.

"Sorry. Kidding," Charley apologized. "That was mean."

"Er. Ok, then," the blonde said, rubbing his neck and blushing all over. "Well, Darcy?"

I nodded, still glaring.

"Ok. I'm James." He pointed at himself then each progressive guy. "This is Rich, Matt, Ryan, Sam and Ethan. Guys this is Darcy and Charley."

Charley waved with an excited grin at the group of guys. Two of them clapped half-heartedly and somewhat sarcastically. I just examined the grass, plotting the murder of my best friend.

"So we figured we'd just split up into teams of four and play around a bit," James continued in a friendly, if not somewhat preoccupied manner. "You guys know the rules?" We both nodded. "Excellent. Let's do me, Charley, Ryan and Sam on a team then Darcy, Rich, Matt and Ethan on the other. Everyone cool?"

I examined my teammates closely as half the group took off with James across the pitch. My eyes caught on the tallest of the group and I couldn't help but blush slightly. He was… Fuck it, he was cute, standing there awkwardly rubbing his own left shoulder, his dark hair already slightly disheveled, as if he too was not exactly ready for his early-morning wake-up call. Our eyes met and, embarrassed that I'd been caught looking, I immediately dropped my eyes to the grass and crossed my arms over my chest.

Bad idea, Darcy. Bad. Bad. Horrible. We hate boys, remember? Penises bad, and all the shit?

"So…" the first one, Rich?, sidled up to me and easily draped his arm over my shoulder. "Ready to play some Frisbee?" He wriggled his eyebrows. I squirmed uncomfortably.

"Are you hitting on me?" I asked, coldly, unused to my personal space being infringed upon so early in the morning… or really ever in fact. Is that what a guy's touch feels like?

Focus, Darcy. No. Not on the tall one. Grass. Look only at the grass.

Rich removed his arm and shrugged good-naturedly. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Actually, you can." You're being mean, Darcy. Calm down.

Rich just shrugged again and ran off with the other guy to take positions. This just left me staring at the grass and shuffling, yet again, uncomfortably. Really uncomfortably.

"He's harmless," the remaining, Mr. Tall and Gorgeous, said after a pause that seemed to last ages. I flicked my eyes up quickly, meeting his for the briefest of moments before I blushed again and looked back down. It wasn't fair. They were big, dark eyes and he had nice eyelashes!

But I'm a man-hating bitch who never wants to fall in love! So I looked hastily back down at the ground.

"So…" He sounded almost as uncomfortable as me. "I'm Ethan, thanks for asking. And why don't you go cover up front? I think we're about to start."

"Ok," I muttered then took off up the field at my quickest sprint, never once removing my eyes from the ground.

By the time "practice" ("ow") was over, Rich had forgiven me my earlier slight and we had set up a truce as the two highest scorers of the game. Just so long as he didn't grab my butt again (his hand will heal eventually!), I guessed we could be friends.

My entire body ached from the game, though, and I found myself limping off the field behind the giggling couple of Charley and James ("No, James, you were the best one out there!" "But you were the cutest one!" Ew. Someone fucking kill me.) and plotting which of them I would choke next.

Ok so Frisbee had been… not horrible. And Rich was nice enough, in a sleazy way. But when Ethan came running up to me to request my presence at post-practice drinks (while I studied the grass very, very closely and tried not to wince at his proximity) I couldn't help but want to look up at him and the fact that he'd removed his shirt halfway through practice to reveal his "good-god, please say those are airbrushed" abs.

So instead I said, "I don't drink before noon, thank you," and scowled at the grass as he ran off to ask Charley and James.

But as I watched his back as he ran off towards the cars, I couldn't help but wince at my own stupidity. Jerk or not, this one might be worth letting break my heart.


	3. Who Are You?

Can't Help It

"Who are you?

Who, who. Who, who."

My choice to skip lunch drinks in favor of a hot bath, however, was quickly denied once Charley heard wind of the plan to go out. Obviously. Booze and boys, what's to turn down?

So here I sit at a dirty bar watching six sweaty guys choke down chicken wings. My own personal version of hell. Charley, however, seems to be in heaven, smiling like a freaking idiot and gazing lovingly at James as if he is an angel embodied. I feel a bit sick.

I down my second beer and pull my long, dark hair off my neck and into a ponytail. I'm still in my gym clothes, because unlike Charley who had the presence of mind to throw a sundress in her car in the off chance that James suddenly proposed to her, I figured there would be no way in hell I'd be wrangled into further activities. But alas! Here I am. Day drinking. In a scummy sports bar.

"So, Darcy…" Ethan drops his chicken wing on his plate and grabs a wet-nap, leaning back on his barstool and cleaning his hands. He looks at me and holds my gaze. Oh sweet Jesus… Maybe the scummy sports bar isn't so bad after all? "What do you do?"

He's pretty. His scruffy raven hair. His insanely bright eyes. His Jake Gyllenhaal buff arms. I'm going to need a lobotomy to resist this. But then I notice Charley out of my peripheral, drooling over James like she's some sort of rabid puppy and I pull myself together and break Ethan's eye contact.

"Darcy?" Rich is sitting right beside me and gives me a little nudge to knock me back to reality. Thank god for Rich.

"What was that?" I grab a wing and slowly take a bite of it.

"Ethan asked you what you do." Rich grins at me.

Ethan swipes his bangs out of his face. I nearly fall off my stool. Rich grins a little bigger.

"I work for a non-profit."

Rich and the other guys nod appreciatively. Even Ethan, and I sit up a bit straighter knowing I've impressed him.

"That's cool. Which one?" Ryan asks with his mouth still muffled in his chicken bone.

"Project Greenlight. Although technically I'm employed by AmeriCorps since they pay my wages."

"Dude." Matt speaks? It's been an entire day and I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've heard him talk.

"Yeah, that's fucking awesome!" Ryan is cheering. Really? Maybe a bit overzealous, but we're already two pitchers of beer in and the guys are starting to get wild.

Ethan nods approvingly, and I cast my eyes down, embarrassed.

Four more pitchers later and things are getting rowdy. A band has started up and it's nearing evening. Chicken bones are strewn haphazardly around the table and Ryan and Sam have made their way over to a table of girls that are probably on the later half of high school. After repeated and loud "subtle" hints on Charley's part, James had finally asked her to dance and the two of them were spinning around happily amongst the small crowd of elderly couples. I tense up for her; laughing and smiling as he spins her around… we're going to need a lot more ice cream once this one's over.

Matt's phone ringing snaps me out of my premonitions and mental lists to stock up on tissues, and as he excuses himself and takes the call I notice the final two boys sitting there studying me like I'm a Sudoku.

"What?" I touch my cheek to make sure I'm not covered in wing sauce.

"Nothing," says Ethan and picks up his beer and switches his gaze to Charley and James as she steps on his toe and he winces.

"We're just trying to puzzle you out," says Rich. "You're quite the enigma."

"Thanks?" I lift a single eyebrow. It's my latest trick. I practice it daily in the mirror. I'm getting quite good. "Discover anything?"

Rich sighs dramatically. "Nope. I'm stumped. How about another round." He grins and winks—nodding pointedly in Ethan's direction—then whisks away from the table and towards the bar again.

Ethan turns back to me and takes another long gulp on his beer. "So…" He grins. Holy fucking shit. He has dimples.

Stop, stop, stop. The sassy gay friend appears in my mind's eyes and calls me a stupid bitch four times before I wipe Ethan from my mind and frown to myself. What the hell is wrong with me? Since when am I this distracted and out of sorts just because of some handsome guy?

"You frown a lot." Ethan is refilling his plastic cup with the last of the beer from the pitcher. He nudges it in my direction before his glass is full and I nod for him to top me off. He might be the first guy I've ever met that's willing to give away the last of the beer to a girl he doesn't know.

"Thanks?" I shrug and take a sip from my refreshed cup.

He watches me for a second. "Wanna dance?"

I look down. Ten thousand things run through my mind at this point. It'd be impossible to pick out a single one that actually makes coherent sense though. Most just go a little something like this: majagbmnzbcjkduwihmncna,mahgifdhjav,jsljf!

Good. Now that that's out of the way.

"No."

What? No? What the hell is wrong with me?

Actually. I know exactly what's wrong with me. What's wrong is Dave the egomaniac that left me sitting in the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant for two hours before I finally admitted I'd been stood up. Or Greg the jackass who slept with me then asked if I could give him Charley's number. What's wrong with me is this: men. Because no matter how good looking he is—actually because he's good looking!—I'm just going to end up back on the couch even more angry and bitter, but also 15 pounds heavier because of all the moping ice cream.

So, I'm sticking with the no.

"Okay." Ethan looks down at the table, not even the slightest bit disappointed, and we share the longest, most uncomfortable silence ever. Eventually, thankfully, it is broken by Rich's return from the bar with more beer, and together we kill another pitcher in less than five minutes.

* * *

Let's be honest, I'm a bit of a lightweight. I like beer. I like drinking, but I weigh 130 pounds and so by eight o'clock I'm pretty fucking blasted.

"Wait. So you guys are brothers?" I try to ask the table of guys, but it's fairly belligerent. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and my lips are kind of, totally numb.

"Not literal brothers," Ryan is clarifying. "We're frat brothers. Kappa Sigs, pledge class 2007."

I can't help but feel slightly repulsed, but Charley is lapping it up, asking them about hazing and formals. Charley tells them about why she dropped out of rush after being shunned by the other girls for not wearing a bra. The guys love her. They laugh in all the right places and Charley feels like a queen, basking happily in their attentions. Meanwhile, I'm kind of falling asleep with my face in my hands.

"I have to pee," I declare suddenly interrupting her monologue and trying pathetically to get off my stool that now seems way too high for me.

Charley grabs my hand and helps me down, James steadying the both of us quietly and pointing out the bathroom as Charley leads me off.

I pee for what seems like ages after all the beer and meet Charley by the sinks feeling tenfold better.

"You okay?" she asks handing me a paper towel after I wash and splash my face with water.

I nod.

"How'd you get so drunk there, champ?" she asks automatically pulling my hair off my face and twisting it into a knot at the nape of my neck.

I glare at her reflection in the mirror. "You left me alone with Captain Boring and his sidekick Sir Pervs-a-lot while you were whisked away by Prince Charming. I had to drink copiously just to preserve my own sanity."

She giggles. "Really? It was that bad? Because if I didn't know you better, I'd think you had a little crush on Ethan. He's kind of, really your type." She grins knowingly and I decided I hate her.

"Please," I brush her off, trying my best to fib. "He's just like every other guy I've ever met. I'd rather be a lesbian."

She giggles and decides not to push this one. "I think your LUG window of opportunity has already passed, sugar. But best of luck with that. I hope you meet a lovely woman someday."

"Oh ha ha. You're fucking hilarious. Can we leave now?"

She grabs my hand and starts to lead me from the bathroom, but as soon as the door swings open and we find Ethan on the other side, I know from just the look on his face and the way he tenses in our presence that something horrible has happened.

"Just. Waiting for the men's room," he modestly growls, looking anywhere but at me. "Just like every other guy you've ever met," he adds as an afterthought and my mouth almost drops open in shock.

As my drunk brain registers that he's just heard every word of your conversation—even though I'd sworn to myself I just don't give a shit about Ethan Bennet—I realize I've made a horrible mistake.

* * *

_I'm planning on actually updating this as much as possible, but I have a full-time job and a few stories tumbling around in my brain so I fear this will be one of those "I'll get to it when I get to it." But who knows? Sometimes I just feel inspired._

_Is everyone starting to see the P&P pattern to this, yet? I hope so..._


	4. I Want You To Want Me

Can't Help It

Chapter 4

"I want you

To want me!"

"Darcy. Darcy wake up!"

It is a truth universally acknowledged that no one wants to be woken up by their roommate poking them on the nose. Particularly when you have the world's worst hangover.

"No," I mutter and roll over so Charley almost falls on the floor.

Charley hops back up, as cheerful as a goddamn cheerleader and almost as obnoxious too. "Your baby brother's on the phone."

"I'll call him back later." I throw a pillow over my head.

Once again—in fact, always—Charley is in singsong mode. "I also made pancakes."

I take the pillow off my head and blink into the daylight. "I like pancakes," I mutter, slowly making my way into the world of the living.

"I know you do." Charley is sitting on the edge of my bed grinning.

I eye her suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice?"

"I'm always nice!"

"You're never nice."

She giggles. "I'm just happy." It's like watching a children's cartoon. If she jumps over a rainbow or turns into a Care Bear one of these days, I really won't be surprised.

I eye her even more suspiciously. But then, my aching, drunk brain finally makes the connection. "Oh sweet Jesus, you had sex!"

Her jaw drops open and her face flushes bright pink. "I didn't have sex!" She hops off the bed and starts to walk out of my room.

This is enough to get me out of bed, albeit still somewhat reluctantly, especially as I try to hop upright and the entire world's gravity shifts through my sodden bloodstream. "If you didn't have sex with James, then why are you wandering around like a drunken teenager?" I'm following her into the kitchen, even if I am still a bit wobbly. God. What the hell did I do last night? I recall a sports bar and embarrassing myself in front of a gorgeous guy—beer goggles or no?

Charley laughs. "You're the one that's still drunk!" She hands me a plate of pancakes, already buttered and syrup-ed. My stomach turns. "And by the way, I think you pissed off James' best friend last night. James says Ethan has taken to calling you 'The Heinous Judgmental Bitch.' Bit early to be making enemies on our new ultimate Frisbee team."

I wince. Not one of my finer moments. I try to act casual nonetheless, and shrug it off, and Charley is nice enough to not point out my own stupidity, merely squinting at me with a secret smirk. She can read me like a book. "Wait!" I set my plate back on the counter and grab a fork. My stomach protests, but they just look so good. Surely the carbs will help sober me up? "We're getting off-topic!" I take a bite. My stomach lurches and my mouth is so dry that it takes me ages to swallow it down. It's touch-and-go but once it makes it past my esophagus, we're in the clear.

Charley has been waiting patiently, watching me swallow, ready to force my head into the sink if the pancake makes reappearance.

I take a deep breath, about as tired as if I'd just run a marathon. I'm pale and sweaty too.

I'm never drinking again.

"So did you or didn't you have sex with James last night?" I'm trying very hard to think about other things.

Charley rolls her eyes. "I didn't."

"You didn't?"

She rolls them again, scoops up her plate and heads into our dining area. I do the same and follow, still pretty wobbly.

"We just talked." She turns scarlet. "Like all night." Gross, now she's grinning too. "It was spectacular." Was that a sigh?

Shit. My already dry mouth turns even drier and now I know there's no way I'll be able to swallow this next bite. She's falling in love with him.

I stare into space for about nine seconds. Charley is scowling in perplexity. "You okay?"

I hop out of it. "Oh yeah. I was just thinking. Did you say my brother called?"

Charley is confused. I'd pushed the topic and then just dropped it so suddenly. And I know now she just wants to talk about it, but I'm not sure I'm the best person for the job—me: the bitter, perpetually single best friend with man issues, a hangover, and the lingering memory of blatantly insulting the last guy I've actually found attractive still fresh in my mind. No, no, not me. Let me be the death of all relationships.

"Yeah?" she's chewing down her own pancakes happily, falling back into the oozy stench of her happy memories. "He called. I told him you were most likely dead for the next six hours."

I bob my head and rise like a ghost from the grave. "One more question: where did Drunk Darcy put her cell phone last night?"

Charley smiles. "Fridge." She shovels another forkful of pancake into her mouth.

I grin back and duck into our fridge, retrieving my iPhone from the butter tray. "Ah. An old favorite of hers."

"Just like college all over again."

* * *

"It was the highest grade in the class."

"George! That's amazing!" I'm lying upside-down on the couch, Charley at the other end in a similar position playing a vicious game of Words With Friends with James, while I have my own phone pressed against my ear trying to catch up with my baby brother.

"I know. I was super proud until Ana Finklestein said I only do well in school because I have no friends and the whole class laughed at me."

I feel my blood boil. I know she's only a 14 year old girl and her misguided cruelty towards my amazing baby brother is probably just a mechanism for deflecting her own insecurities, but that's no reason to make my brother's life a living hell. Sure he still has his baby fat and says phrases like "super proud," and I'm sure it doesn't help that he's followed her around since they were in third grade (obviously my little brother has as great of taste in the opposite gender as his older sister does!), but if I ever meet this Ana Finkelstein it's going to take a lot for me to not start pulling out her hair.

"Don't listen to her, George. She's just jealous because you're smarter! And so handsome too…!"

Charley chuckles at the other end of the couch. George does too.

"Right, sure. If handsome is now defined as lack of physical prowess and the ability to almost break a chair just by sitting in it, then I'm the most handsome guy in school." George is amazing. He's just so funny, and one day, when the baby fat is gone, he's going to be the most amazing catch.

"Shut up, George—"I'm trying to smack away Charley's foot, that she keeps trying to prod my nose with. "You know you're amazing." I slap Charlie hard on her shin and she retreats back to her corner of the couch.

"Tell him I say hi," she mutters, licking her wounds.

I stick out my tongue at her. "Charley says hi."

"Ask her if she'll marry me," George swoons in keeping with a long-running joke. George has also had a crush on Charley for quite a while. Not a serious crush or anything; he just thinks she's his soul mate or something equally moronic.

"I can't do it, George. Charley's in luuurve with some neeew guy," I mock into the phone, and Charley jumps into attack position.

"Give me the phone!" she commands.

George meanwhile is howling in mock-agony. "No! How could she cheat on me!"

"I don't know, George. Perhaps because she's a heartless bitch?" Every word I utter is punctuated by Charlie reaching for the phone and me fending her off as best I can. I barely get the sentence out before Charley has snatched the phone and George is berating me for cursing in front of his poor, young ears.

"George?" She asks into the phone. "Guess what happened last night." I lay back into the sofa thinking poor George can deal with her sentimental monologue, but I am rudely awakened by her next utterance. "Darcy tried to flirt again. It was awesomely horrific."

Now it's me jumping on her to get the phone. "What are you even talking about!"

"Yeah. I think she liked James—that's my guy—I think she liked his friend because she got all stiff and uncomfortable. Then she got drunk. Then she insulted him. And now she's walking around the house moping." Charley must be made of tough stuff, for, no matter how much I abuse her, she doesn't even pause in her revealing discussion. "Yeah? What? Ok."

Charley pulls the phone from her ear and puts it on speakerphone. George's voice echoes weirdly through our living room, "Darcy. How much of this is true?"

"I don't actually like him—I mean, well he's kind of cute—but really, George, he's just some dumb guy!"

Charley is smirking as if I'd just proved her every point. I drop my head into my hand.

"You sound worse than most of the girls in my grade! Doesn't this stuff get easier as you get older?"

"No!" Charley and I both shout back at him immediately.

George sighs loudly. "If you like this guy, then you should be nice to him and then he will probably want to kiss you."

I scowl. "Great dating advice, mench. What are you nine?"

"Fourteen."

"Right, save the expertise for those who need it—"

Charley interrupts, "Yeah, Darcy is way past help here!"

George is sighing again, like he's some renowned therapist too busy to deal with our childish antics. "I have to go do homework, but Darcy?"

"Yeah?"

"Just be nice, ok?"

"I'm always nice!"

Charley snorts and falls onto the sofa.

"I'll tell mom you say hey," and with that George hangs up and I'm left alone in my living room with Charley disgustingly knowing grin.

"Oh you. Just shut up!" I shout and barge out of the room.

"I didn't say anything!" she shouts back, laughter still tucked happily into her voice.

* * *

_Next chapter is coming as soon as tomorrow, since that is my day off work. Although my diva dog will probably want to go to the park all day. Shit, man. I need a nap._

_Hope you guys are reading this? I'm loving writing a female Darcy. She's just so... daft, yo._


	5. We Are The Champions

Can't Help It

"No time for losers

'Cause we are the champions…

Of the world."

Chapter 5

With Saturday comes our first competitive Frisbee game and me, once again, staring out of Charley's windshield in agony. While it's true that I have on a few very modest occasions coerced Charley into wild goose chases around the city in search of "so-and-so" and the possibility he'd sleep with me then emotionally abuse me, I'd never forced her into a long-running commitment.

For the past two days I'd been sulking like it was my job; mad at Charley for making me continue to see the group of guys I'd horribly embarrassed myself in front of with one too many pitchers of Bud Light, and mad at the fact that I'd have to see Ethan Bennett again and discover if he was really as attractive as my fuzzy, delirious brain recalls.

Surely no? But if he is, then I have to wallow in the regret of another drunken, massively idiotic fuck-up. There are now too many of them to recount, but somehow I feel about as nervous as a freshman at her first Frat party—the massive mind-failure about to cloud her judgment for the very first time and lead her to bed by the hand of the hazy dude whose name she still can't remember.

Not that I have any personal experience…

Charley turns off her Bug's engine and looks at me exasperated. "What does baby brother say?"

"Be nice."

Charley grins. "Actually I think he said, 'Be nice and then he'll want to kiss you.'" I sock her on the arm playfully. "Not bad advice, though really." She somersaults out of the car like the ninja of final words. I hate when she does that… Today in particular because she leaves me with no other choice than to get out of the car and follow her across the pitch.

And there they are, the rowdy group of hodgepodge and keg-stands. Sam and Ryan are already wrestling on the ground, constantly re-affirming their masculinity. I'm assuming today's fight is over some lucky gal, and I thank god multiple times that it's not me. James is already swept into a daze of Charley's sunshine and radiation poisoning. Matt is on the phone, cooing to his long-distance lady. Rich is sticking out his tongue and making suggestive faces mockingly at me, that make my entire body burn in embarrassment. And Ethan is… adorable… Fuck. He's smirking to himself and looking at me dead-on. I turn back to Rich, that thing he's doing with his tongue is much easier to bear than Ethan's dimples.

Why do I have to have a type!

After a peck on the cheek and a few whispered, shockingly blush-worthy hellos from the lovers of America, James pulls himself together long enough to assume his role as captain. "Right so, I already did the coin flip. We're skins but we get the Frisbee first. I was thinking Darcy, Rich, and Ethan are our best scorers, so you guys hang back and receive. The rest of us will hit the front and try to get open for you guys." James quickly strips off his shirt and takes off running up the field. Charley is swirling in disgusting happiness. It's like little cartoon hearts are hovering around her head. I make a disgusted noise that seems to snap her out of it in time for her to remove her own shirt and follow Ryan, Matt and Sam to the front of the field.

Which leaves me, sandwiched between Rich and Ethan and contemplating my imminent suicide.

"You look as if you're contemplating your imminent suicide," Ethan says, still smirking his dimply smirk. I jump. Holy shit, it's as if he's in my brain.

Rich sidles up to me and grins. He then slowly lifts his shirt and does an immodest strip tease until he's down to his bare chest. "Good or great?" he jokes.

"The Pillsbury dough boy would be the only person impressed by that," Ethan jumps in there, before my entire body can heat up. I haven't seen a guy this naked in months. It hurts. It literally causes me pain.

Rich grins and accepts Ethan's challenge. "Not all of us can be sickly, little creatures like you, Ethan."

Ethan grins. "Speaking of sickly, has your syphilis cleared up yet?"

"Wha—" Rich stops and pouts, his face suddenly glowing. "Who told—" He growls and runs cross-field to take the furthest corner from the pair of us.

I'm seven-seconds from dying in laughter, but I come up short as Ethan peels off his shirt. Rich wasn't lying, there's an odd lankiness to Ethan that I find hipster-fabulous, but when he takes off his shirt I realize, once again, that he's lacking in nothing. He even has those wonderful muscles that run from one's hipbones, directly to his pelvis. V-muscles. I thought they were a thing of legend!

Embarrassed by his rather impressive showing, I tentatively remove my own shirt. Unlike Charley I had not considered this situation and worn my best push-up sports bra (yes, those exist), but rather stood before him in my rattiest, black, breast-depressing sports contraption that made me feel about as feminine as having a penis on my forehead would have. So, despite the fact that years as a runner have left me a not too awful build, I find myself trying to cover the holes and sweat stains in my already horrific bra.

But Ethan just shrugs, seeming to not notice either way—totally unperturbed by the proximity of that one hole to my nipple and the very real possibility of a nip-slip happening at some point throughout the game—and takes off to his chosen spot on the field, leaving me to frown at my own shame of being so easily ignored.

* * *

While Ryan and Sam take off on a rather loud and ear-piercing rendition of Queen's "We Are the Champions," the rest of us make our way tiredly off the field, the other team hanging their heads in shame at their rather decimating loss.

It had been a spectacular blowout brought to you by the rather shocking tri-fecta that was Rich's alliance between Ethan and I. The three of us bounded around the field perfectly, Ethan feeding us all easy throws with his stead hand, Rich using his strength and height to find his way around each and every opponent, and me with my sneaky sprints downfield to catch whatever the other two could throw my way for an easy score. Really, it was as if the other players needn't have even been there (which was good, because Charley sat down on the pitch about half way through and took what seemed to be a nap).

"Sick, sick, sick!" Rich came over to where Ethan and I were standing, donning our shirts again in silence, the others having run off with their excess energy in a victory parade around the field. He held his hands up proudly for high-fives from the two of us. "Where'd you learn to play like that?" he asked me as I met his hand mid-air.

I shrugged. "Younger brother."

Rich was deliriously happy. "You're like the Olympic sob-story of Ultimate Frisbee. Victorious. Don't ever leave us!"

Ethan snorted to himself. "Yes, I don't know how we'd ever bear the loss," he said drily and I felt myself cringe. While during the game we had worked in almost perfect tandem, it seemed our truce only applied while on the field, and Ethan had returned, rather quickly, to the snarky quips I'd been dreading.

Truth was, I found them rather hilarious, and the way he always grinned to himself… It's as if I could feel my feet lifting off the floor when those dratted dimples came out. Ugh. Stop, feet! Get your asses back on solid ground!

Rich chuckled. "Don't listen to him, Darcy. I think I'm falling in love with you."

I frowned and clammed up, just like I did every time that dratted L-word was mentioned. "Save yourself the heartache, Richy, and get over it."

I could almost hear Ethan rolling his eyes and smirking to himself, as if it wasn't all too apparent how he really felt, but there was something else there too—a weird electric tension that I felt pull at me every time he got too close, or when I lost myself in a staring contest with his abs, or as we almost read each other's mind with a single glance—a fact that made us an unbeatable pair throughout the game.

"Oh how you wound me." I felt Rich break through the weird spark between Ethan and I and wrap his sweaty, disgusting arm around me. "Darcy, my dear. Will you be my new best friend?"

I pushed him away, not liking the feel of his sweaty chest, my head to heavy with thoughts of Ethan and repressed sexual urges. "Ugh, get off me. You smell like a dead dog."

* * *

_Oops. This is not tomorrow. You have now entered the realm of empty promises and needy animals. Even right this minute, my great mammoth of a pet is making me play fetch (a very difficult task while trying to also write a lovely story for my dear readers). I will keep this brief. My time is about to be shortened in the coming weeks, due to a work craziness and the fact that it is Carnival and I live in New Orleans. Free time will be limited and updates may be scarce._

_But then again... how bad do you want it? (Yes, this is my pathetic way of begging for reviews... Please?)_


	6. Pinball Wizard

Can't Help It

Chapter 6

"That deaf, dumb, and blind kid

Sure plays a mean pinball."

Like sand through the hourglass, the weeks passed quickly. Frisbee practice grew somewhat more amicable between Ethan and I, a temporary truce fit only for the field and unable to be maintained throughout Charley's pointed and embarrassingly suggestive comments that I was falling hard for him.

I didn't have the heart to admit to myself that I very well could be. I also struggled not to admit to myself that he only grew funnier and more attractive to me. Therefore, instead of participating in post-game celebrations, I avoided all contact with him (and Charley's obnoxiousness) and went home alone to wallow on my couch instead.

Charley, however, was slipping into a worrying delirium that wrapped her in a blanket of sunshine and vomit—the sunshine being her love, and the vomit being my utter repulsion by it. As her and James (and really? Has James ever even said anything interesting ever? I can't even bring to mind a single time when he'd done anything but smile and stare into space… he's like a Stepford Wife, but worse… a Stepford Husband!) grew closer, Charley and I rapidly fell by the wayside. She stopped coming home at night. Then she stopped coming home for dinner. Next thing you know, her toothbrush is gone and I find myself texting her forlornly from the couch during an all-day Law and Order SVU marathon.

_Do you still exist?_ I texted during a particularly sexually charged moment between Benson and Stabler.

My phone whistled at me to signify her response and full episode later. It had been an agonizing hour in which the rapist in question had gotten away. _Ha. Yes, just avoiding your terrifying face for fear I go blind._

_Rude._

Another half hour passed before she responded. Seriously? My best friend once texted me in the middle of her Grandfather funeral just so she wouldn't have to keep me waiting! I'm losing her… and worst of all, I'm losing her to a stupid boy!

Her text read: _Really sorry, Darce! I'm busy at the mo… Girl date for tomorrow. Your fav restaurant and then the sappy chick-flick of your choosing. Make it count, if you don't come out crying, you've done it wrong!_

We hadn't had a girl date in so long! I grinned to myself and texted back, _Nudity trumps sob stories. If there isn't an insanely gorgeous man walking around mostly naked for the majority of the movie, then I just don't wish to partake._

The credits rolled on my eighth episode of L&O of the day… I figured I should get up off my ass… after this next episode.

_That's my girl! ;) Pick you up at 8!_

* * *

Tomorrow became today faster than you can say… a word that takes 24-hours to say. But, it seemed rather suddenly that I was donning a tank-top and jeans and hopping into my car to go meet Charley, excited at the prospect of laying eyes on my best friend's face once again.

I walked happily into my favorite Chinese restaurant, told the strangely confused Asian woman who I was looking for and was led to a table that made my heart stop beating quickly in my chest.

"Oh good, Darcy! You're here!"

Ow, ow. My chest is burning! Why is this happening to me? There before me sat, Charley, James and Ethan all staring happily at their menus and totally and utterly unperturbed by my sudden and efficient heart failure.

This is not girls' night. This is a double date! My entire brain was screaming in utter and specific hatred for a one Charley Bingley, my former best friend.

I seriously considered just pivoting on my feet and walking straight back out of the restaurant. Instead I took a rather reluctant seat at the last remaining side of the table and glared pointedly and extendedly at a seemingly oblivious Charley.

What. A. Bitch.

"So Darcy. How has work been?" James asked after a long and tense silence between all four members of our party.

I directed my glare at him instead. "I spent 45 minutes on the phone with an old lady who couldn't figure out how to turn her lights on. How do you think my day was?"

"So… good then?" Ethan tried to stifle his laughter behind his menu, but only succeeded in becoming the latest victim of my death-glare of misery. I wish he hadn't too, for now I was forced to take in his presence—his slightly damp, freshly-showered hair; his oxford button-up with the sleeves slightly rolled; his attempt to conceal his dimpled smirk from me and utter determination to look at anyone but me.

Then it hit me: Was Ethan here as a double date? He'd obviously taken a shower, put on nicer clothes. This wasn't something guys did just to third-wheel on the world's most sickening couple. Had he… wanted to see me? Unlike me, he wasn't putting up a fight, sulking in the misery of surprise guests. He was… smiling… and happy… and well groomed. Had the truce finally found its way off the field?

Or, better question: Did I want it to?

And as this conflicting storm of hope and complete and utter dread combined with a smattering of confusion raged inside of me, the worst possible thing that could have happened in this moment did.

"Hey guys," our waitress approached and I looked up from the menu. "Can I take you ord—"

For the second time that evening, my heart completely stopped. Except this time for real.

"Jocelyn?" Ethan said, looking up at her and obviously not undergoing the same shock and rage that was coursing through my veins.

Jocelyn Wickham is two things: A man-stealing, life-ruining, queen of all that is nasty and terrible, ginger bitch; and a cu**. We'd met in college when I was ten times to the wind obsessed with Jordan Peters. This was back when I was not a bitter and cynical lass and still believed things could work out between me and a member of the male sex. Anyway, Jordan and I stopped in a party at my dear friend, Jocelyn's house. We're holding hands, I'm insanely happy/stupid, drinks are flowing. Next thing I know I wake up on her couch and she's having sex with Jordan two doors away.

But whatever. Probably wouldn't have worked out with Jordan anyway and for some insane reason I believed her when she said that she'd been drunk and he'd seduced her. Then she told me about her financial worries, how she might have to drop out of school and I'm dumb enough to make the completely idiotic decision to loan her some money so she can pay her tuition while she finds a new job.

$10,000 later and I'm now really into this guy named Kevin. I introduce her to Kevin, slightly more cautiously, I must admit, and everything seems to go ok. Weeks pass. About four of them before I notice that her and Kevin have not only been sexting behind my back, but she's also been living out her sick little fantasies with him for almost a month. A month!

As I said: Cu**.

Charley, who has suddenly returned to being my best friend, is bristling beside me while I'm still trying to process the facts that A) Jocelyn Wickham is standing right in front of me (the last time I saw her was at a graduation party a year ago and I may have pulled out a chunk of her hair…) and B) By some twist of horrific fate, is on a first name basis with none other than Ethan Bennett.

Fuck my life.

Jocelyn, noticing the way I have gone into complete and other shock and that Charley looks as if she is about to leap across the table and pounce on her at any moment, does the first smart thing she's ever done in her life and briskly walks away.

"What was that-?" James asks the table at large. Meanwhile Charley has turned to me and is asking me repeatedly, "We should go. Do you want to go? Should we go? You want to leave, right?"

Ethan is just staring at me, for once not smirking at my misery, but his forehead crinkled in complete in utter confusion. He has a question waiting on his lips. I know this, because I have the same one. How the hell does he know Jocelyn Wickham?

I take a deep breath and speak the first words that I've uttered throughout this entire dramatic escapade, "No. It's ok. Let's just eat."

James sneaks away quietly and by the time he's returned we've all fallen back into a tense silence. Only this time I'm glaring at the table instead of its occupants.

"I requested another waitress," James mutters, very casually. "I think I'm getting the General Tao's Chicken. What about you, Ethan?"

Ethan is staring into space, completely and utterly lost for a full minute. "What? Oh… uh. Noodles probably. Haven't decided."

I sneak a glance at him only to see him watching me curiously and not his menu. His eyes look at me questioningly, but I try not to give anything away and just return my gaze to the table.

* * *

The rest of the meal is tense to say the least, but we struggle through under the forced conversation of James and Charley, until finally they just leave Ethan and I alone with our surly replies and they float back off into Rock Candy Mountain to roll around in the fields of bliss.

Ethan and I don't utter a single word between us, but I can't help but alternate between watching Jocelyn wander pointedly around the restaurant without once veering in our direction, and watching Ethan watch Jocelyn wander around the restaurant.

The entire time my chest is filled with dread. I'm going to lose. I always lose to Jocelyn. And now more than ever I decide to stay as far away from Ethan Bennett as is physically possible. By the time we finally leave the restaurant, I've not only taken myself out of the running, but fallen into a daydream that spans the next 15 years in which I attend Ethan and Jocelyn's wedding and cry myself to sleep to that really depressing song by Adele.

"So… how about that movie?" Charley asks as we all tumble though the door and into the parking lot.

"I think I'm out," I say, affecting a yawn.

"I'm in if you are…" James replies shyly as Ethan says, "I'd rather skip this one."

Ethan frowns. "Well… I rode with you guys…"

Charley looks at me, a bit of the mischievous sparkle that I hate so much is back in her eyes. "Would you…?"

My entire body almost collapses in defeat. I can't just say no or I look like an utter bitch, but my entire being is conflicted by the thought of being confined to a car with the boy I've just decided it would be very harmful to like. I release a breath of defeat and reluctantly agree.

"Damn you, Charley," I mutter into her ear as she hugs me gratefully and prances across the parking lot with James. Ethan follows me silently to my 4-Runner and climbs into the front seat, expressing nothing but mild fascination with my leather seats.

"Nice car," he says as I start the engine. "Did your parents buy you this?"

I'm slightly taken aback by such a random comment. I look at him briefly, my head tilted slightly to the side. "No," I say with finality.

The car fills with silence again. "Its just a really nice car," he says as I pull into traffic.

"Why are we talking about this?" I ask, checking my blind spots and confused by his persistence.

"So we don't have to discuss the elephant in the room," he says, looking fully at me as I watch him in my periphery.

For a brief and shining second I think he's talking about the weird, sexual tension I reluctantly feel burning between us, but then I realize he's talking about Jocelyn.

"It's a car."

He shrugs and tries not to grin. "Ok. The elephant in the car, then."

Again the silence becomes overwhelming, stretching out for a solid 30-seconds before Ethan becomes overwhelmed and starts up again. "Did your dad buy you this car?"

"My dad?"

"It's a very fatherly car. Very safe… and expensive. It looks brand new. Graduation gift, maybe?" He's still watching me, but he's not smirking, just studying me like he's trying to figure something out.

"My dad's dead."

"Oh. Sorry." He shifts entirely in his seat, hiding his shame at such an assumption by staring out the other window.

The silence, if anything, has gotten worse, now filled not only with the Jocelyn elephant, but also the elephant of bringing up my dead father… not exactly a great end to an utterly shitty night, and I find myself slipping into thoughts of my father and wishing I had just turned and left the moment I realized this was no longer a girl date.

"We're really not going to talk about Jocelyn Wickham?" Ethan asks at last, finally turning back in his seat so he can watch my response.

I try to remain as unexpressive as possible and continue to watch the road. "No. We're not," I say as steady as I can, once again vowing to quit the fight before it even begins. I just can't handle another heartache… particularly not at the hand of Jocelyn Wickham, once again.

"Right." Ethan shrugs. "Radio it is then." He reaches to my dash and turns it on, filling my car with classic rock instead of the sickening tension of pointed silence. The only other words we utter throughout the ride are him singing along badly to "Pinball Wizard" and giving precise and brusque directions to his house.

I pull up to his house and take a deep breath in relief. Relief that I won't have to stifle the patter in my chest at the subtle scent of his recent shower and utter man-ness (it radiates off him), and withhold the giggle in my throat as he reaches ambitiously for the high-notes.

The breath of relief is premature. Just as Ethan places his hand on the door handle, and is about to swing it open and relieve me of our proximity, he stops and looks back at me. "Listen, " he says and I can't help the way my attention snaps back to him. "I don't really know what happened tonight, but I'm completely and utterly baffled by you. I came out tonight hoping I could figure out what's going on in the pretty little head of yours, but I just continue to be stumped by the enigma that is Darcy Fitzgerald. I just… I just think you should know that one of these days I'm going to figure you out and I don't think I'm going to like what I find."

Our gaze had somehow gotten heated. In fact, I felt my entire body light with a fire that made me wildly uncomfortable—like staring directly at the sun. I don't think I'd ever looked head-on at Ethan's eyes. They were a brilliant blue, smack dab in the middle of his dark hair and deep eyelashes.

I didn't know what to do but stare into his eyes, unable to look away at the fierceness I'd found inside. I shrugged and forced myself to break his gaze, fearing that my inner monologue was beginning to sound a bit like a bad romance novel.

I looked at my speedometer, contemplating why he was so determined to figure me out. "I don't think I'm going to like it either," I replied, for lack of anything else to say.

I felt my entire resolve melt away and disappear as he slid out of the front seat of my car. There was going to be no walking away from this one, was there?

Plus… I think he called me pretty.

* * *

_Late, late, late. But still... Longer than usual! And better? Geez I don't know if it's better. You tell me! I'm actually impressed that I've managed to find time to write this. Mainly because I'm exhausted. Nextly, because I'm sick. Finally, because it's Carnival and insane._

_Thanks, my banging reviewers. This one was for you. Keep being awesome because those were the most awesome reviews I ever did get. And you inspired me to right this/ made me guilty when I wasn't writing this. Great job! Now... What else you got?_

_Lastly, sorry if Ethan is a bit creepy. It's just that you all know what his side of the story is... I think to Darcy some of the things real Elizabeth does might seem a bit strange? Maybe? No? Don't listen to me. I'm freaking crazy._

_Are you reading this? Ok. I'll stop writing now._


	7. Just a Friend

Can't Help It

Chapter 7

"Oh, baby, you

Got what I need,

But you say he's just a friend,

But you say he's just a friend."

My job had been a long-running dream of mine—a concession of normalcy before the parade of my future was to begin. I'd thought I'd love it, learning the ropes of the business world, but with the tilt of non-profit to make me feel less like a self-absorbed ass-hole. And while I knew I was making a difference in my community and all that bullshit, lately my days had become a lesson in boredom interrupted by inappropriate text messages from a one Rich Williams (Oh why, oh why did I give him my number!).

Perhaps it is just inevitable: Everyone must hate his or her job.

Plus today was Monday, and, as an added bonus, I'd forgotten my lunch.

"Please, please, please, please, please!" I whispered fiercely into the phone in the bathroom of the small shed from which I work, trying very hard not to let my supervisor (asshole) hear me as I begged Charley to bring me something to eat.

"No." Charley is a bit of a heartless bitch, in case you'd missed that. Everyone thinks she's so great and dandy, but really what kind of a horrible monster must one be in order to ignore their best friend's literal cries for help?

"But you owe me one!" I almost shout before I can catch myself and drop the volume of my voice again.

Charley just scoffs into the phone. "I owe you one? How do you figure that."

I literally roll my eyes, but it's just me in the bathroom so I just watch myself in the mirror. (Is that a pimple?) "Charley. You owe me like a billion at this point. While you've been off in My Little Pony Land, I've been picking up your slack left and right. I covered for you when your hyper-religious father called and you were off having an 'adult sleepover.' I let half of our Frisbee team grope my ass without killing any of them. And best of all I put up with a night in the same room as Jocelyn Wickham without slitting my wrists once!"

Charley chuckles. "That's true. I'll give you that one."

"So, bring me lunch!"

There's a long pause while Charley is clearly contemplating her options. She inhales deeply then lets out a reluctant "yes" on her exhale.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal excitedly. "Make me one of those yummy sandwiches I love so much, please, please, please?"

"Fine," she replies, sounding pretty putout. But really! I wasn't kidding; she owes me like a bazillion!

I'm victory dancing around my bathroom when Charley stops me—

"And Darcy."

"Yes?"

"It's Dream Valley."

"What is?"

"Where the My Little Ponies live."

I scoff. "You would know that, wouldn't you?" I laugh into the phone and hang up.

* * *

Just thinking about the wonderful things Charley might pack in my lunch (maybe even a Snack Pack!) made the hours pass faster, even with Greg the narcissistic boss (that I may or may not have made-out with after a few too many Margaritas once upon a time) glaring at me from across the shed (I mean, office).

Before I knew it, it was 12:30 and time for lunch. Right on the dot the door opened and there stood—

Not Charley…

Once gain, Charley had pulled the sneak attack on me, and there standing in the doorway to my office shed, holding a brown paper bag with my glorious lunch inside was none other than Ethan Bennett.

He looked around carefully, once again wearing an oxford with rolled-up sleeves over khakis. This time he had an oddly shaped bag slung messenger-style across his chest. He looked a bit like Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Only taller. And less like he's… 12. Still with dimpled cheeks though.

Wow.

Finally he finds me, taking him in from my tiny, cluttered desk, half-concealed by my laptop.

"Darcy?" he asks, as if requesting permission to enter any further and lifting my lunch just a little higher to make sure I've seen it.

God, why couldn't I have worn something nicer today? Instead I'm sitting here in my ratty jeans and Ameri-Corps t-shirt, my dirty hair shoveled into a sad ponytail, and a large red splotch on my face from where I'd been playing with that dratted pimple.

I lift one hand in the most awkward wave I've ever done and give a toothy grin that comes out more like a grimace before I quickly quit my game of Solitaire, save my Excel spreadsheet and sweep away from my desk. I cross the shed quickly before Greg can give me a lecture and direct his glare at Ethan, and grab Ethan's arm gently to pull him briskly outside

Ooooh. That tingles.

I reluctantly release my grip on Ethan's arm and twirl back around to push the door to the shed closed, waiting for it to click into place before I turn to Ethan and allow myself to take in any more of him. He's watching me with that ironic half-smile he wears so well. He seems a bit confused by my rush to get him out of the building so quickly.

"Sorry," I say with a shrug. "My boss is literally a cow."

One of his eyebrows raises and his grin grows less ironic and more amused. "Literally?"

I chuckle, but it comes out more as a breath. "No. My boss is not literally a cow."

"That's good. It'd be quite sad to be outranked by a dairy animal."

I almost allow myself to laugh before I realize that, essentially, I am outranked by a dairy animal (minus the dairy part… I'm almost positive Greg has not begun to lactate).

I tuck a lock of hair that has escaped from my unfortunate ponytail behind my ear and try not to look depressed by the state of my life. "So. What's that?"

Ethan looks at his lumpy bag. "Camera equipment."

"No. That."

He lifts his other hand and smiles. "Oh that. That's your lunch."

I take a step closer as he offers the bag and I grab it from his hand.

"Charley was pretty flustered when I got back from my shoot so she asked if I could bring it to you. I had nothing better to do so…" he shrugs and holds out his hands. "Here I am."

"Fascinating stuff." I bob my head. "Shoot?"

Ethan looks back down at his lumpy bag. "Photo shoot. It's a long story."

I peer into the bag again. Is that two Snack Packs I see? Oh Charley… What are you trying to do to me!

I look at him briefly before walking right by. I turn back but continue walking, except now backwards. "Come on. If you tell me, I'll share my lunch with you."

"Oh yeah?" Ethan seems skeptical and incredibly hesitant. To be fair, our last encounter hadn't turned out quite so smashingly.

I'm still backing up and the space between us is growing further as he doesn't follow. I stop for a moment, briefly considering my options. What? Is he going to make me beg? But inevitably, as he ruffles his dark hair, I do. "There's a park around the block and Charley packed two pudding cups. What do you say?"

Ethan takes a hesitant step, but still it's a step in the right direction. "I do like pudding."

I do a silent cheer, and grin at him. "No one can turn down a Snack Pack."

After a brief, but slightly stilted walk around the block, Ethan and I are settled onto a bench in a small neighborhood garden and unfolding the contents of Charley's packed lunch. I'm digging things out of the bag and piling them up between us with relish. So far we've amassed the two puddings (but only one spoon, this could prove tricky), a ham and cheese sandwich (already cut in half, excellent), carrots and hummus, and a chocolate chip muffin. I pull out a two Hershey's Kisses and a small note from Charley (that I only briefly glance at before blushing and tucking it into my jean's pocket) that says, "Do you like your surprise? XOXOXO, Charley."

I turn the bag upside down to make sure nothing else is hiding inside before I try to grin at Ethan, but get choked up and nervous in the process (he startles me sometimes with his attractiveness) and end up making some sort of constipated grimace. Ethan politely ignores me before picking up the sandwich and pulling out half to offer to me. "You sure you don't mind sharing?"

I try to look casual, but casual doesn't seem to be possible for me. Why am I so giddy?

We each take a bite of our sandwiches and chew silently. I force myself to swallow quickly, having finally thought of something to say, but almost manage to choke myself again in the process. I cough viciously then finally manage to find words. "So you do photography?"

Ethan is watching me worriedly as I try to catch my breath. "You ok?" Well, at least he seems entertained.

I wave him off. "Yes. Just went down the wrong pipe. Please continue."

Ethan shrugs and swallows his next bite. "Yeah. It's just on the side right now, but I have a few shoots on the table. I'm doing a wedding in a few weeks and some family portraits. Maybe one day I'll actually be able to make a go at it. But right now it's nothing I'm particularly fascinated by."

"And what are you fascinated by?"

Ethan shrugs. "Just… people, really." His face is growing a bit brighter. "I find them fascinating, how much you can learn about a person just by looking at them. Their expressions, their ability to convey themselves."

I frown. "I am pretty bad at that."

Ethan lifts an eyebrow and smiles at me, genuinely entertained by something I've said. "Yes. I've noticed that."

I frown and nudge his arm jokingly (Ooooh, more tingles!). "Hey! You're not supposed to agree with that!"

Oh sweet Jesus. Am I… flirting? The thought grips me like a panic and I suddenly clam back up. Just like the knot in my stomach, things between the two of us clench as we each finish our sandwiches in collective silence. Ethan picks up one of the pudding cups and peels off the foil with a small frown. Without a thought, he dips his index finger into the chocolate good-ness and begins to scoop the pudding into his mouth with a faraway look on his face.

Is it weird that I find that adorable?

Out of nowhere Ethan finally speaks, and I'm so taken with watching him eat his pudding in such a child-like manner that I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. "I want to say I'm sorry."

It takes me a second to regain my bearings, but eventually I do and frown at him in confusion. "Sorry?"

Ethan winces. "For… bringing up your father the other night."

"Oh." I frown. Yeah, that had been awkward.

Ethan sucks all the pudding off his finger then ruffles his hand through his hair anxiously, again. With a reluctant sigh, he elaborates, "It's just—forgive me—but I'd assumed you were a bit of a spoiled Daddy's-girl."

What? I blink and try to process this information. It stings, just a lot. "Wow." I take a deep breath. "Ok…"

He winces again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd… passed."

I stare into space for a minute. "I guess in a way, I kind of am a 'spoiled Daddy's-girl'."

He frowns and his eyebrows knit together. "I didn't mean—"

"I never really wanted for anything as a kid. I mean, I like literally had the perfect childhood. And I was! I was so spoiled! And I had the best Dad in whole damn world! And then, when I was 16 he died and suddenly I had all this money and I didn't know what to do with it."

Ethan is still frowning. "You don't have to—"

"Money doesn't mean everything." I shrug. In a way it feels weirdly good to talk about with him. Our eyes meet and once again I feel myself slipping on the precipice and into an unknown universe (where rainbows are prevalent, it appears). "If I could give it all back just for one day with my Dad, I would."

Ethan's eyes are sad, but earnest. There's no pity, just genuine empathy and it feels insanely good just to look at him.

Without saying anything, Ethan reaches across the remains of our lunch and tucks his hand into mine. Our fingers align almost automatically and weave themselves together into an intimate cup. I feel my breath slip away and for the first time I know what it's like to feel genuinely safe with someone, like absolutely nothing bad could go wrong as long as they are there.

Ethan flashes me half of a sad smile and squeezes my hand. I flash him one too, but reality begins to settle back in. Suddenly my whole body is flaming with a wild blush, and I feel uncomfortable at our intimacy. I know this sounds silly, but I'd never held hand with a guy in such a way and my wild naïveté sets in with a rush.

"Want a kiss?" I practically squeak, trying desperately to think of something.

Ethan removes his hand from mine and sets it in his lap with a frown. "Er. What?"

I snatch one of the Hershey's off the bench with my suddenly, gapingly empty hand and hold it out before him. "A kiss," I say, quick to remedy my earlier, totally moronic question.

Ethan's ironic smile is back as he takes the kiss tentatively from my hand, unwraps it and pops it in his mouth. He chews it slowly, taking this opportunity to study me wordlessly as I scoop the lunch remains back into the paper bag and hop off the bench.

"Well." I look at him and clench my pathetically tingling hand. "I guess I should get back to work."

Ethan nods and continues to chew his chocolate, while I attempt a smile and rush away from the park as quickly as possible. I look back though, just before I turn the corner, and he's still there, sitting on that damn bench, watching me walk away.

* * *

_Sorry, it has been so long since I last updated. But, look! I made it a nice long one for you! And there was so much Ethan in it! Isn't that just grand? What'd you think of it? Not too lame, I hope._

_Plus, I stayed up late, just for you guys (Yes! 11:40 IS late!). And now I will be insanely tired tomorrow at work, but you know what would make it all worth it…?_

_;) Please?_


	8. I Want to Hold Your Hand

Can't Help It

Chapter 8

"Oh, I tell you something

I think you'll understand.

When I say that something

I want to hold your hand."

That night, I found myself face-down in my pillow with a melting pint of ice cream sitting ravaged on my bedside table.

I couldn't yet make up my mind as to whether I'd been a total idiot that afternoon leaving Ethan sitting there all alone in all his adorableness, or if I'd only been a pretty big idiot for spilling my guts to a guy that will almost inevitably break my heart.

Not that I like him enough for my heart to actually be broken by him! Nope, nope, that'd be stupid. Moronic even. Really, really dumb.

I groaned into my pillow. Yep, I'm just an idiot all around.

I passed the better part of an hour in such a manner, so preoccupied with my own assessment of my raging stupidity, that I didn't even notice someone in my room, until my arm was nudged with a cold, glass object.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, having grown so accustomed to my solitude, it hadn't even occurred to me that someone else could actually be in the apartment. I jumped about three feet in the air, screaming all the way, before Charley could soothe me and offer me the bottle of wine she'd been nudging me with.

"Geesh, jumpy much?" she asked, plopping herself down beside me in my bed.

"Sorry. I forgot someone else lived here," I replied, still trying to recompose myself.

"Oh ha, ha," she mock-laughed, crawling across my bed to my bedside table and rifling around in my drawer for my emergency wine screw (because sometimes getting out of bed to open your wine is a hell of a lot to ask of a girl!). Within seconds she had that baby popped and was taking a swig before passing the bottle to me so I could do the same.

"So," she watched me closely. "How was your lunch?"

I drained more than I should have and nearly choked trying to swallow my mouthful of cheap wine. I glared at her and did my best she-wolf impersonation.

Charley just grinned back and took the wine bottle from me. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy it!" she said as she finished her sip and the bottle was passed back again. "Ethan said you invited him to eat with you. Now wherever did you get such a silly idea?" she asked, now with mock-innocence, batting her eyelashes happily.

I sucked in a deep breath; torn between finding out what Ethan had said about our shared lunch, and letting Charley know that I cared enough to ask her.

"I don't know why you'd think having lunch with Ethan Bennett would be something I'd enjoy." I tried very hard to be nonchalant as I took my next sip, but I seemed to fail miserably at it because Charley proceeded to have a fit of cackling laughter. I punched her arm playfully and tried to hide my embarrassment. "You laugh like a hyena," I growled, sulking at my embarrassment.

"Will you just admit you like him?" she asked, her laughter subsiding into a very smug grin. "Because I know you well enough to know that when you're laying with your face in your pillow sulking, it is 99 out of 100 times due to a boy." She nudged my arm for me to hand her back the bottle of wine.

I pouted for another very long minute, trying very hard to prevent Charley from being correct.

She held the wine bottle under my nose and teased in a singsong voice, "Plus, I'll tell you what Ethan said about you!"

I tried to bite my lip, but really what was the point in pretending to be proud. This was Charley! She knew I had almost no pride remaining (she'd been there egging me on in most of the instances that had taken said pride away).

"What'd he say!" I couldn't help but shout. Perhaps a bit too eager? Once again, I hadn't done a very good job at being "normal" and had sent Charley off into another one of her cackling fits.

"Come on, Charley! Tell me!"

Charley finally pulled herself together and sat up, setting the half-empty wine bottle down on the floor by my bed.

"First. Admit that you have feelings for Ethan."

I frowned. "Don't be a smug bitch, Charley."

"Too late." Charley grinned but didn't capitulate.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Fine. I like Ethan freaking Bennett. There. Are you happy now?"

"Very." She nodded solemnly and then set off on a scavenger hunt through dreamland. "When you two get married, can I be your maid of honor?"

I glared and growled at her again. "As if you have any honor."

Charley just laughed again.

"C'mon, Charley! What'd he say?"

Charley just shrugged casually. "Nothing really. Just that it was weird."

Hmm. Weird. Well that wasn't great. I mean, at least he hadn't said painful or horrible. But weird wasn't a whole lot better, was it?

Charley picked up the wine again and gave it another swig. "So what did happen? I'd like sordid details, please."

"Sordid details?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, did you gaze lovingly into each other's eyes and recite Keats poems?" Another swig and she passed me the bottle.

I snorted. "Is that what you and James do?" I replied, taking my turn with the wine with a smirk on my face.

She shrugged. "Only after a good roll in the hay."

"Gross. I bet he has sex with his socks on." I stole another sip before I passed the bottle on.

"So. What's wrong with that?"

"It's just… weird." Damn, there was that word again. Was my afternoon as "weird" as having sex with your socks on?

"_You're_ weird. And you're changing the subject!"

I shrugged innocently. Oopsies… Silly me.

"C'mon, what happened!" she whined. Gosh, she's such a baby!

I tried to shrug it off. "Nothing. Nothing really."

"'Nothing really'?" she looked at me doubtfully and all knowing. Omniscient bitch.

"Ok fine. We held hands."

"You held hands?" she scoffed.

I smiled to myself, a weird (ack!) warm feeling spreading through my body. I couldn't tell if that was mortification or not, but it felt kind of… fuzzy… and somewhat enjoyable… in a sickening way. I had really liked just sitting there with Ethan, and maybe it had just been a bit of 4th grade flirtation, but something about holding his hand had felt insanely intimate and… amazing.

"It was… nice."

Oh god. I sound like a goddamn moron.

Charley gave me moment of shocked silence. "Holy shit. You really do like him!" She held out the remaining quarter of the bottle of wine to me. "Here, you finish it, you need it more than me!"

She sat in contemplative silence as I forced my brain to focus on taking down the rest of that wine and not my utter, gaping fear of what this all meant.

It was only about half a second after I'd drained the last drop from the wine bottle before my Ethan-thoughts finally overtook me. "Is it awful that he said today was weird?"

Charley winced. "Well, it's not great."

"Yeah. I know." We both sat in contemplative silence. "I'm fucked."

Charley finally grinned again. "Well, let's hope." She threw me a wink before turning to me head-on and demanding my complete and utter focus, locking down into Serious Charley in a split second.

"So you like Ethan? Like really, really like Ethan?"

I nodded numbly, still finding this admission a bit shocking.

"And he's going to be at my birthday party on Saturday. And you're going to be at my birthday part on Saturday?"

I nodded, once again, numbly, not sure what she was getting at. Of course I'd be at her goddamn birthday party! She was my best friend!

"So…" suddenly she grinned and her entire face lit up in excitement. "What are you going to do about it?"

* * *

_Hey guys, sorry it has been ages and ages! Things have been a bit… tough lately. My Granny died and my family needed me to go home and… yeah, all those related things._

_Anyway, on a lighter note! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'd like to get another one up soon, it's just… you know, life keeps interfering. _

_Quick shout-out to last chapter's awesome reviewers!_

_AlliJay21: I'm glad Ethan is your dream guy. We definitely share that in common! Whoo, baby! (Reminder: More scenes in which Ethan is naked, yes please!)_

_Tricksk8er: I'm glad you're not a stalker. That's very reassuring. I'm also glad you're enjoying my other story… I guess I should update that for you, huh?_

_Rumbelle: I'm very glad you've made an exception for my story. I hope you continue to do so. I'm glad you think that Ethan is warming up to her… that's the hardest part of this story, because Darcy never seems to know that Elizabeth doesn't really like him, so how can my Darcy? Plus, there's obviously something there mutually between them… or is there?_

_Next chapter should get exciting! Just bear with me! Bye... for now?_


	9. We Get On

_I'm baaaack! Did you miss me?_

Can't Help It

Chapter 9

"And I was wearing this dress

Because I wanted to impress

But I wasn't sure if I looked my best

'Cause I was so nervous

But I carried on regardless

Strutting through each room

Trying to find you."

-Kate Nash; "We Get On"

Charley is leaning into me, pressing odd goopy things to my lips that taste horrible but make them really, really shiny, I must concede.

"Blot," she orders, handing me a tissue. I do as told and she finally hands me a mirror.

"You look awesome," she declares, finally happy with her work. I just take another sip of my beer and try to quell the sickening protests of my stomach.

Fuck me. Are those butterflies?

"Darcy. Look at me," she commands.

I frown and do as told.

"Listen. You are a gorgeous, wonderful, fun person. You are amazing, and any guy who cannot recognize that is probably a fucking moron." She grins and takes a sip on her cocktail. "And while, I'll admit, the fact that you like him is typically a bad omen when it comes to dudes, I hope Ethan will see how awesome you are."

I roll my eyes and try not to blush under her compliments. "Is my taste in men really so bad?"

She nods immediately and enthusiastically. "Yes, remember Glen the pyromaniac?"

I wince. "I'm still sorry about your car."

Charley chuckles. "Meh, something to remember you by."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She chuckles again and gives me another once-over. My hair is twisted into some sort of elaborate braid/ponytail hybrid and is bouncing happily atop my head, smaller pieces having already fallen out in the process of braiding that line my face like wisps of smoke. My eyes are surrounded in Charley's newest smoky eyeshadow, darkened to a penetrating deep brown. I'm clad in some sort of red cocktail dress that falls just above my knees and clasps around my boobs like a corset. It was a bit of a silly purchase but Charley declared it her personal request that I get laid for her birthday, so alas here I am, ready to make a fool out of myself in the name of Boy-dom. And probably get my heart stomped on in the process… again.

She grins and declares me perfect.

"I don't know why we've gone to all this trouble for _me_ when it's _your_ birthday."

She whirls on me in all seriousness. "Darcy, when was the last time you had sex?"

I frown and think back. "Graduation?"

"Exactly." She grins. "Now. Stop frowning. The way I see it, this will go down one of two ways: he'll either fall madly in love with my charming best friend, or he's a jerk. Either way, you look beautiful so you've already won." She sticks out her tongue and pulls on her boots. "Now finish your drink, we're late to my party."

* * *

Parties overwhelm me. I don't know what it is about them, maybe the excessive number of people packed into a small space, very few of which am I likely to know, or maybe it's just the overwhelming pressure to socialize with people I don't normally speak with and wear clothes that aren't my sweatpants. That's a lot of pressure when you think about it. Especially when you consider that ever since graduation, I've narrowed my life down to like the five most important people in it.

Charley has no such qualms and shoots off into James' massive apartment as soon as we cross the threshold to find her beloved lovaaaaa and thoroughly ditch me.

My stomach does somersaults as I try very hard not to look desperately through the unconventional groups of people scattered about the house for Ethan. I even try to remind myself not to get my hopes up. The last time I got my hopes up I ended up screaming at my cell phone after the fourth day since my date with that weird German kid and he still hadn't bothered to text me.

With that I grab a jell-o shot off the counter in the kitchen, which I have wandered unthinkingly into, trying desperately not to note the brash, disgusting, dirty apartment that my best friend has deemed a better place to spend all her time than our place. "Typical frat buys," I mutter to myself as I down my shot, trying not to choke as I take a full mouthful of the gelatin. And, of course, that has to be the moment that my eyes meet none other than Ethan Bennet's across the kitchen, red solo cup clutched in his hand, his hair parted nicely to the side, a checked oxford shirt unbuttoned to show his white undershirt, smiling that adorable, dimpled smile and chatting happily with none other than Jocelyn. Fucking. Wickham.

My stomach drops out from under me.

"Gorgeous! You dressed up for me!" I feel myself being lifted off the ground as Rich throws his arms around me and lifts me vigorously.

"Put me down, your big ogre," I growled, hitting my fists against his shoulder in anguish. I catch a glimpse of Ethan, staring straight at the two of us—the entire room is in fact, having been drawn in by our commotion.

Rich drops me unceremoniously back onto my feet and frowns at me. "Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills."

I pout at him, my eyes flicking, of their own accord, to Ethan and Jocelyn still watching the pair of us from naught but two yards away. I touch my hair self-consciously. Why is that bitch Jocelyn so obnoxiously pretty? _It's a trap_, I want to scream at him. _She's a horrible person! _"You were messing up my hair," I mutter to Rich, still playing with my elaborate up-do, now looking ashamedly at the ground.

"Ding-dong!" Rich sings happily, tugging on my ponytail like it's an old fashioned doorbell.

"Seriously!?" I shout at him, frustrated and embarrassed, before I turn on my heel and stride quickly from the room. Rich doesn't bother to follow me. I can imagine him back in the kitchen, rolling his eyes at my display and sliding across the counter to strike up a conversation with some other pathetic, and much less embittered, girl.

I mentally berate myself as I find a blissfully empty bathroom and lock myself inside, trying to school my features into something less blatantly miserable. Ugh, Jocelyn. Why? Why her? Of all people!

I scold myself some more. Why do I let her get to me? Why is it me in this stupid bathroom trying desperately, once again, not to be upset over some stupid guy? I think back on what Charley said before we left the apartment. Surely I'm not that horrible of a person. Surely I deserve someone who is at least modestly ok? This is why I hate the male gender. I take a deep breath and vow to never end up here again, in some stupid ex-frat guy's bathroom trying really hard not to cry over my own self-pity.

I'm better than this.

I take a deep breath and dry my eyes, trying not to smudge my elaborate makeup. I put on my best smile, determined not to be the wet blanket that I feel like and mope throughout the entirety of my best friend's party. I take another breath, my hand on the door-handle, ready to step back out into the festivities despite the sudden gaping sensation in my chest, but before I can open the door it swings out on it's own accord and Ethan Bennet jumps, startled to find me on the other side of the door.

"Oh." He takes a startled step back. "Sorry. Didn't know you were in there."

I shrug and try to smile, but my jaw is quivering of it's own accord and I have to tell myself to stop. "It's okay. Guess the door wasn't locked after all."

He gestures behind him with his thumb. "You… still…"

"Oh. No," I reply suddenly realizing he just wants to use the bathroom. "It's okay. I'm finished."

"Cool," he breathes and I feel it hit my cheek. The realization finally settles that we're standing quite close. I try to head left to sneak past him and allow his entrance into the bathroom, but he goes the same way. Simultaneously, we both correct and end up knocking into each other again. I let him make the alteration this time, but we both simultaneously go to pass each other, our bodies sliding past the other, rubbing ever so slightly against each other, a weird tingle spreading through my entire body.

Oh god, I think as he closes the bathroom door, maybe I'm not quite as down and out as I thought? Or maybe he just really had to pee.

* * *

About three hours later and I'm sprawled on a beanbag chair, clutching a beer for dear life and chuckling over something Rich is muttering on about from where he's sprawled out on his back looking up at the ceiling contemplatively.

The rest of the party had been practically uneventful. Charley and I had finally reconnected over a few birthday shots, which served to loosen my tongue enough for me to actually make a round with her and speak with a few moderately ok people. Rich had been my saving grace, though, once I'd apologized for my earlier behavior and we'd snuck off to his room to get high and play guitar (or rather he did those things, I took one hit and giggled on his beanbag chair for an hour).

Someone knocked on Rich's door and soon after Ethan, James, and Charley joined us, the three of them perching on the edge of Rich's rather scummy looking bed.

"Happy Birthday!" I cheered, still giggling, at Charley who frowned and looked at her watch.

"It's over," she pouted, bottom lip popping out. "Now I'm just old."

James slung his arm over her shoulder and ruffled her hair affectionately, both of them grinning at each other like idiots. "Yes, but at least the wrinkles haven't started coming in yet."

"Sure," Ethan snorted derisively and Charley reached over James to punch him in the arm.

"At least you're not as old as the stars," Rich muttered still watching his ceiling meaningfully. "They're just so…" we all waited patiently for whatever insight Rich was about to offer us, "old," he concluded resolutely.

I nodded solemnly at him while the other three eyed us with amusement. "How high are you two?" Charley asked, trying not to giggle at my far away expression.

I shrugged. Was there a specific way to measure that? "I don't know," I pronounced after concluding that there wasn't, "but will you make me miniature pizzas?" I held up my hand, making a circle with my thumb and pointer finger and peering at her through the middle. "Like 60 of them."

Charley chuckled again, but, entirely of my own free will, I made her get up and head towards the kitchen, James following laughingly in her wake. "Wow. Am I a magician?" I whispered to Ethan, the only remaining person in my sightline, in awe. "I think I just did that with my mind powers."

Ethan also chuckled, his little dimples popping out to declare his cute-ness to the whole room, and scooted closer until he was seated on the floor, one of his knees up near his chest, the other bent at his side, the bed as his backrest.

Wait. Am I, like, really a magician?

"So you had a good night, I take it?" he asked, his foot slipping out a bit further until it was nearer to mine.

"Yesss," I drawled. "And you, too. I take it Jocelyn left?" I tried not to roll my eyes and do the obnoxious voice I normally do when mentioning Jocelyn's name out loud. It didn't work out so well, and Ethan eyed me seriously at my outright mockery.

"Yeah…?" he replied skeptically. "She wanted to go out dancing, but I was too tired."

"So is she like your girlfriend now?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Uh…" he blushes and looks away.

I sit up straighter, not sure if I'm encouraged or not by his reaction, leaning towards him and sobering slightly. "Listen," I begin after a lengthy internal debate. "I swore I wasn't going to say anything or whatever, because it's really none of my business." I'm practically leaning entirely out of my beanbag in a desperate attempt to get closer to him and convey the sudden importance of what I have to say.

"Er… okay?" he replies reluctantly, his gorgeous eyes boring into me, his reluctant smile whispering across his lips.

"Jocelyn…" I try to find the words, but the haze in my brain is fairly overwhelming. Come on, Darcy! You can do this! "Jocelyn is bad, bad news. I mean, like, yeah. It's fine. It's none of my business," I hasten to add as I watch him physically pull further away. "I just, I just want you to… It's just. Don't let her fuck with you. OK?" I nod seriously.

He frowns and studies me like I've gone mental. Maybe he's right too. Maybe I have. "Ok," he replies, but I can't tell if he's just appeasing me. "I wont."

"Ok," I lean back, happy with myself, flopping back into a comfortable position in the beanbag. "Now on an unrelated note," I say, my eyes darting around the room suspiciously, panic settling in just as Rich begins muttering to the ceiling about Oscar Wilde's lesbianism, and whisper conspiratorially, "I think there's a _snake_ in this room."

I look back to find Ethan shaking his head, trying to hide his laughter, his face resting squarely in his palm.

* * *

_I hope you didn't think you'd seen the end of this? Ok, you did? Fair enough. I kind of thought for a second there that it was done too. But no. It's not. I'm sorry about the hiatus. That was horrible of me._

_So that was my "Netherfield Ball" of sorts. I was trying very hard not to make it too mopey, but still let you understand how really disappointed Darcy is. Ain't that life, babe?_

_No more chatting. Last thing though. Right before I went to write this I spilled an entire cup of orange juice on my bed, but I was so determined that I wrote it anyway instead of cleaning up my mess. Now I have nowhere to sleep. If that's not heroic devotion, I don't know what is. Also, my bed is covered in pulp now. Please review to thank me appropriately for my struggles. Hehe._


	10. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Can't Help It**

_Chapter 10_

_"No, you can't always get what you you want_

_But if you try sometimes_

_You Just might find_

_You get what you need."_

Once again, I wake up groaning, still laying in that damn beanbag chair, Charley poking me repeatedly in the nose. I open my eyes to see her sitting beside me, cross-legged on the floor, her hands propped up by a bottle of champagne, her head propped up by her hands.

"Want to go to our favorite breakfast place and drink mimosas?" she asks, grinning at me as I blink back at her in confusion. I rub my sore, dry eyes and look around me. The room is entirely empty, except for Rich sprawled out on his back nearby, possibly dead.

I groan and try to sit up. I attempt it too quickly the first time, and end up back in my chair, spinning for a moment before Charley offers me a hand and between the two of us we manage to get me to my feet. "Ugh," I groan, a hand to my head, "I think I'm too hung-over to drink any more. Or eat. Or be awake."

"Come on. Let's have some girl time."

Charley laughs and leads me out of Rich's man-cave (why the hell did I decide to sleep in there of all places?), nudging me from behind with the champagne bottle while I toss out feeble protests.

"But, Charley, we're obviously walk of shaming. I'm still in last night's clothes and you are clearly wearing a man's wardrobe," I mutter, gesturing to my own rumpled and shameful appearance, my dress way too bold for the morning's sunlight, and her in one of James' button-ups and her miniskirt.

To this she only giggles and continues to lead me out of the house. "Wear you shame with pride, Darcy." She grins at me. "Own it."

"Ok, but don't question it when everyone is staring at us," I reply knowingly as she leads me outside and I cover my eyes to shield them from the horrific sunlight. We end up in Charley's car and she hands me her sunglasses, which I gratefully put on, ducking my head behind the sun-visor.

By the time we get to the restaurant, I'm half asleep against the back of my seat and my drool is running down Charley's leather interior. Charley shakes me awake without even a moment's hesitation; her engine still rumbling as she throws an elbow against my shoulder and yanks her keys from the ignition. "Get up, lazyface," she sings, sliding out of the car and rounding our vehicle until she standing outside my window, her hand on the handle. I press the lock button and curl back up. Within moments she opens the door anyway, staring at me disapprovingly and jingling her keys in my face. "I have the keys. Did you really think that would work? What, are you an idiot?"

"Leave me alone, mom. I don't want to go to school," I grumble as she yanks me from the car and pulls me to my feet. I bristle in the damp morning air, standing on the sidewalk outside our favorite breakfast place and rubbing my arms from where she'd yanked me. "You are like freakishly strong, did you know that?"

She just rolls her eyes and heads towards the entrance, me following lazily behind her. "Great parking spot, too," I congratulate, sliding in across from her, having been seated much more promptly than usual at said restaurant due to the ridiculous hour in which my best friend chose to raise me from the dead. What a jerk.

"Thanks," she grins, wigging her eyebrows and already starting to peel off the foil around our cheap champagne.

As soon as she has the thing popped, I drop my head into my arms, crossed nicely on the table, and begin to grumble. "Oh god, do we have to? I'm still mildly inebriated from last night."

"Excellent, this will keep you from withdrawals," she grins wickedly, taking a quick swig from the bottle before our waiter comes over and asks if we want orange juice to go with it and she orders two glasses. "Plus, the thing's already popped so you're drinking it."

I groan again, but lift my head. "God, even our waiter is judging our lives right now. We are a cautionary tale."

The waiter comes back, placing two glasses of orange juice in front of us. "Fun night ladies?" he asks with a grin.

"Why?" I scowl at him. "Why would you even ask that?"

He falters. "I just figured cause of what you were wearing—"

"This is my everyday apparel!" I shout back and he steps away quickly.

Charley merely chuckles as she continues to fill each of our glasses of juice the rest of the way full with champagne, watching the liquid rise and fall as the bubbles deflate. "Darcy, you're scaring people again," she sings warningly at me.

"Well, he was being judgmental," I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the backrest of my seat petulantly. Charley just stares back at me with a knowing grin. I deflate under her amusement, realizing I have no actual reason to be upset. "Whatever," I concede, whirling my hand dismissively. "I'll tip him 30 percent. He'll get over it."

Charley just shakes her head and hands me my mimosa, sipping happily at her own. "You know, Darcy, you really should start watching the way you portray yourself to new people. You know, work on your first impressions?"

"Why?" I frown and take a swig of my mimosa, washing it around my mouth like mouthwash, hoping to cure my epic dry-mouth. "It's not like I'm trying to make new friends. And the people who are my friends already know what I'm really like, so what the hell do I care what other people think?"

Charley rolls her eyes. "Maybe if you'd made a better first impression with Ethan, you wouldn't be—"

"Leave Ethan Bennet out of this!" I interrupt. "I am like 110 percent over Ethan Bennet."

Charley lets out a long-seeded breath of mild frustration. "Yeah, ok." She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink while I pick up the menu and pretended to peruse it when in fact I know it by heart and merely want to hide my pink cheeks from Charley after last night's embarrassment of seeing Ethan at the party with Jocelyn freaking Wickham (she should consider making that her middle name…).

"But seriously, Darcy," Charley starts in again and I put down my menu expecting another launch about admitting my feeling for Ethan and blah blah blah, but instead Charley is staring at me in an unsettlingly serious manner. "Maybe the day will come when your old friends will leave and you'll have to make…" she takes a deep breath, "…new friends."

I shrug casually. "That's what I keep you around for, social crutch." I grin at her cheesily, shooting her with a hand gesture and a wink before picking my menu back up.

Another deep breath. "And what if I wasn't… around?"

I lower my menu slowly, watching her across the table from me, trying to sip her mimosa casually and failing miserably. She looks uncomfortable—shifting around in her seat and trying desperately to avoid making eye contact. "What aren't you telling me?" I ask slowly, cautiously, almost 100 percent positive I won't like the answer.

Charley winces and slowly sets her drink back on the table. "Maybe we should order first?"

I feel my heart drop. Oh. God. "Charley," I almost growl, not liking this extended agony.

Again she winces, her eyes screwed up in pain so she won't have to face me as she replies in one full breath, "Beauseivebeenofferedmydreamj obinnewyorkcity."

A rushing sound blows through my ears. "Wait. Slow down. What?"

"You know that job I applied for a few months ago? For the Met in New York?"

I nod once and gesture for her to continue.

"Well. I got a Skype interview. And then. And then they offered it to me."

I blink at her. "When did you find this out?"

"Friday." She winces. "I didn't tell you cause I didn't want to ruin my birthday. Plus, I'm not even sure if I'm going to take it."

I frown. Confused. "Why wouldn't you take it?" I ask, trying to process this entire thing still.

Our waiter chooses that exact inopportune moment to come over and request our orders. I order for both of us briskly, hoping to be rid of him as quickly as possible.

"Uh. Rude," Charley mutters, shocked by my dismissive and brisk presumption.

I glare at her and whirl my hand dismissively. "Oh, you always get the same thing anyway."

"Yeah, but what if I'd—"

"Well now you can't," I interrupt. "Now. Will you just answer my question. Why wouldn't you take it?"

Charley sulks briefly, pretending to pout to stall for time. "Because," she finally answers sheepishly. "Because I like my life here." She shrugs as if that was the perfect answer. "I like our apartment. I like living with my best friend. I like… going to my favorite breakfast place and already knowing what I'm going to order. I'd miss this. I'd miss you."

I watch her for a prolonged moment, somewhat skeptical. Finally something clicks. Saying goodbye to Charley would be one of the hardest things I'd have to do in my life, but we'd keep in touch. That wasn't a good enough reason for turning down your dream job. We'd write. We'd fly out to visit each other. It's Best Friends For Life, not Best Friends For Now.

"Bullshit."

Charley reels back as if bit. "What?"

I tilt my head to the side, considering her, realization dawning, a small smile gracing my lips. "You want to stay for James."

Charley frowns, a staring match breaking out between us before she realizes I can see right through her and flicks her gaze away ashamedly. "Well would that be so horrible? I really like this one, Darcy."

Oh man. Was I really going to have to do this? I lean across the table, trying my best to bore into her the significance of this situation. "Charley. This is your _dream_ job we're talking about here. This is The Met, for Christ sakes! Yes, will you miss your life here? For sure. And your life here will miss you, too. Me especially. Don't let your complacency here be an excuse to not go out there and give your life a shot. But, Charley, you've been given an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. This is a life-changer. Do you really want to throw that all away and risk everything you've worked for for your entire life for a guy?"

Charley seems almost pained. "Its just—James is just—"

I nod eagerly. "Yeah, James is great. Heck, maybe you guys would beat the odds and make it long-distance, you know? I mean, it's unlikely, but if you want to give it a shot, by all means!"

Charley pouts and goes to interrupt me but I silence her with a stare, my eyes locking onto hers, trying very hard to convey the seriousness of this decision.

"I just want you to think very seriously about this, Charley. Is James worth giving up your dreams for?"

* * *

_One might almost say this update was quick, even? I don't care, just say something about it. Please?_

_Thanks to all of last chapter's reviewers, it was great to hear from you guys again, too!_

_Be kind, please review [again?]._


	11. If You Leave Me Now

**Can't Help It**

Chapter 11

"Oooh, no

Baby, please don't go."

"I'll call you, like, all the time, I promise." Charley gives me the biggest hug she could muster, her eyes slightly damp, standing on the sidewalk outside our apartment, her moving van idling beside her while her father waits for the two of us to finish our final goodbyes.

I hadn't wanted this to be a tearful thing, I'd wanted to tell a few inside jokes, share a bottle of wine and then load up her stuff with Charley father. Well now we'd done all that stuff, our last night as roommates having been spent like most of our previous nights: drinking wine on the couch while a barrage of ABC Family original movies played on our TV. But now here we were, and I found I'd actually have to watch my best friend get in the car and drive away. It was proving to be harder to do than I think either of us thought it'd be.

Charley's eyes flicked down the road for the 10,000th time that day, clearly watching to see if someone would drive up.

"I take it James didn't like the idea of you moving very much, huh?" I asked sadly, trying not to show any signs of mental superiority, when inside my head was ranging with a barrage of "I told you so!" For once, though, watching Charley shoot me a watery smile, I absolutely hated being right. But more than that I hated James for doing this to my best friend.

"It's okay, really," I respond to her unshed tears, knocking into her with my elbow. "Long-distance would have been hard anyway." I try my best to seem cheerful. "Look on the bright side, this will just free you up for meeting new people once you get to New York, right?"

Charley nods. "Yes. I'm just sad. And not even about James, really. I'm just sad to go. I'll really miss you."

I take a deep breath. "Clearly." I grin at her. "I _am_ the best thing that ever happened to you, after all."

Charley shoots me a skeptical smile that fades quickly into a toothy grin. "Are you sure you don't need help with rent? I could find you a new roommate or help out for a while?"

"Puh-lease." I roll my eyes at her. Like money even factors into this whole mess. "I've been trying to get this apartment to myself for years! I'm going to turn your room into a dining room. You know, so I won't have to eat every meal on the couch or perched in the corner of the kitchen like a bat."

Charley chuckles. "Bats don't perch." She literally jumps as her father honks the horn and shouts from the driver's side about it being time to hit the road. Her eyes flick down the road one last time. "Will you still play Frisbee with the team?" she asks hopefully.

I wince. I hadn't honestly thought about it. "Why would I? Now that you're gone?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess that would be… strange. They're going to suck without you."

I wave my hand dismissively. "Ah, I'm sure no one will miss me at all. Maybe Rich."

"Not Ethan?" she asks, unable to stop herself from wiggling her eyebrows at me suggestively.

Again I shrug. "Now that you're gone, I doubt I'll be seeing Ethan much at all, without you dangling him in front of my face like an unreachable treat."

"He is pretty delicious, though, isn't he?" she grins suggestively.

I lightly smack her on the arm. "Oh, just shut up and leave already."

She grins back, reaching for the U-Haul door. "I'll miss you, you stupid bitch," she says as she climbs into the front seat.

I roll my eyes. "Call me when you get there?"

She chuckles back through the still-open door as she snaps her seatbelt into place. "Whatever, _mom_."

And with that she closes the door to the truck and her father hastily puts the behemoth in drive and they're gone. My best friend is gone.

I stare down the street for a while, trying to think of what to do next, where to go from here. I don't come up with any astounding possibilities so eventually, as I realize how pathetic I must look standing on the street staring at something that's already gone, I wander back inside my half empty apartment. I consider watching a movie, but upon entering our living room, I remember that Charley took our couch. It suddenly all just looks so empty.

I sit down cross-legged on the wooden floor and pull out my phone. "Hey George," I mutter after four rings and a send-over to voicemail. "It's your sister. I know you're probably on a hot date with Pam Anderson or someone, but if you get a moment could you call me back? Charley just left and I kind of need to talk to someone. Ok, love you."

I hang up my phone, blink seven times at absolutely nothing and then, without much say in the matter, I start to cry.

* * *

It only takes me about a week to realize that this whole living alone thing is not all it's cracked up to be. So without really considering it all that much, I put up a Craigslist ad for a new roommate and finally buy a new couch.

By the next day, I have a new leather monstrosity taking up way more space than I'd bargained for, a whole new set of wine glasses (not sure who will use the other ones, but oh well) and an inbox full of creepy responses to my ad.

I wade through them with an almost perpetual look of horror across my face. Responses range from 70-year-old men to nympho… strippers? (I'm really not sure, but she asked how I'd feel about being paid with singles.)

Maybe a roommate wasn't such a great idea.

"I'm sure you'll adjust to living alone, Darcy," George says through my iPhone as I race around the kitchen attempting to cook dinner. It's been a week since Charley left, and, honestly, making anything more elaborate than a Hot Pocket seems extravagant ever since. But tonight I was determined to feed myself something with actual nutritional value. Without Charley there to poach my food, I'd just have to live off the leftovers… for weeks, probably. It's hard cooking dinner for one. "Eventually," George tacks on as an afterthought.

I chuckle. "Sure, eventually. But for now I just get to be the loneliest asshole on the playground."

"Why would you be hanging out on the playground, Darcy? That's weird."

I roll my eyes and snort. "No, I don't, George." I mutter back as I toss a pile of peppers into the frying pan to simmer. "Please try to keep up with my sense of humor."

"I don't think anyone can keep up with that warped thing you call a 'sense of humor.'"

I pout. "God, I can even hear you using air quotes through the phone." I throw some mushrooms into the pan and an ample helping of curry sauce. "And Charley got my sense of humor, so you can too."

"Oh, god, Darcy." His exasperation is tangible. "You're starting to sound like you've been dumped. It's kind of pathetic."

"George!" I almost shout into the phone. "Don't be mean to me! I'm fragile!"

"Darcy, you've never been fragile a day in your life," he replies and I can't help but smile. It's nice that he actually believes that. Nice, but so incomprehensibly untrue.

"How's school going?" I ask, stirring the suddenly goopy contents of my pan and trying to puzzle out where I'd gone wrong as the rice suddenly begins to over-boil.

"Oh good. Killing it in class, like usual."

"That bimbo slut still bothering you?"

"She's not a bimbo. She's like the most beautiful girl in school—"

Beep-beep.

I pull my phone from my ear to see it flashing with an incoming call from Rich. That's weird…?

"Hey, George, I gotta go. Call waiting," I say, jamming my phone back to my ear. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Nah, you need to hold on to whatever friends you have left. They're dropping like flies!"

"Thanks a lot, George," I mutter back darkly, yet smiling at his teasing. Gosh, even my brother realizes the sorry state of my social-life. "And, Georgie, just because this girl is pretty, doesn't mean she's better than you. You remember that, ok?"

"I'm awesome," he intones back, somewhat more sarcastically than I'd hoped. "Got it."

He clicks off the line before I can say goodbye and Rich's voice takes over.

"Darce? You still alive, babe?"

"Ugh," I growl into the phone. "Don't call me babe, you obnoxious asshole."

"Don't act like you don't like it," he replies smugly.

"What can I help you with, Richard," I ask trying to bypass his antics. "I'm not rejoining the stupid Frisbee team."

"Hah," he chortles. "That's not why I'm calling. We actually have a few new girls."

"Oh," my heart still for a second. "Who?"

"Namely? Jocelyn."

My heart plummets. "Jocelyn Wickham?" It feels like burning. My rice starts to over-boil again, but this time I don't really care and just flick off the burner and turn away from my disastrous dinner.

"Amongst a few others."

"Oh."

"But like I said, " Rich continues hastily, recognizing quickly my discomfort with the situation, "that's now why I'm calling."

"Ohhhkay. Then why are you calling?" I force myself to remain with the flow of conversation and not linger on the horror that is Jocelyn Wickham.

"I was wondering if you were looking for a roommate."

I frown. Was I? Truth be told, I'd mostly given up on the hunt and replaced my loneliness with a Netflix account. "Yeah, I guess so. Why?"

"My twin sister is coming to town and looking for a place."

"The other Fitzwilliam?" I ask, slightly dumbfounded. "I didn't even know you had a twin. What's she like?"

"Oh, you know. Me with breasts."

"Sounds horrifying."

I can almost hear him grinning. "It is. You'll like her."

* * *

_Okay, so clearly this is somewhat transitional of a chapter. I'm sad to see Charley go. And I really considered letting her and James go long-distance (because I'm a big ole softy), but alas that is not the route Jane Austen went so very long ago and I feel it's an integral part of the storyline. Don't worry though, you'll find out why James is a no-show. Eventually…_

_Now I really must go cry myself to sleep because I just watched the latest episode of Downton Abby (the American airing—no spoilers please, you Brits!) and I can't believe how unbelievably sad it was!_

_Hope to get a new chapter out soon. Not that I don't love it, but I feel I must keep some independent works on the page before the LBD takes over entirely! Perhaps it's time they give it a page of its own? (Which I will thereafter check regularly, obviously!)_


	12. That's The Way We Get By

**Can't Help It**

_Chapter 12_

"OMG I F-ing LOVE IT!"

"Do you speak entirely in capital letters? Like seriously?" Darcy asked, her face devoid of expression as she stared into the wide-eyed girl before her, currently seconds away from twirling in circles around Darcy's apartment.

Rich chuckled from where he was perched on the arm of Darcy's new couch, downing a beer he'd quietly poached from her fridge. Good god, who were these people.

Anna finally stopped jittering in place and forced herself to hold still for a hot second. "I am sorry, I'm being obnoxious aren't I? It's just that I've been looking for a place for weeks and, while I have gotten some really nice offers for people to eat my face I still haven't found a place—"

"What she's trying to say is that she really wants to live here," Rich interrupted. "And she is, shockingly, very excited about it."

Darcy couldn't help but give a skeptical wince. Anna seemed nice enough, pretty, with long, dark hair she had braided down her hip like a Disney princess, but she seemed… overwhelming? Yes, very overwhelming.

"I promise I'm not actually crazy," she replied, as if Darcy had spoken her thoughts out loud, looking up at Darcy with her wide, brown, Disney princess eyes. What was she some sort of animated character?

"Listen Anna, I'm not even sure—"

"Oh, god. Please don't tell me no," Anna suddenly gulped, almost pouncing on Darcy in desperation. "I've been living with Rich for almost two weeks now, and while The Return of The Frat House sounds like a title of a really good horror movie, I can't take it anymore!"

Darcy tried to shake the other girl's grasp on her arms, Anna having grabbed her somewhere amidst her monologue. "Ok, Anna, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath," Darcy instructed slowly, taking hold of Anna's hand and making her take a slow soothing breath with her. "And calm down."

Anna did as instructed, slowly releasing her breath, her eyes losing some of their shiny, rounded, baby chipmunk qualities.

"Now," Darcy asked slowly, "do you have any pets?"

"No."

"How do you feel about red wine?"

"Most-assuredly pro."

"Do you listen to Ke$ha and/or Taylor Swift at an ungodly volume late into the night?"

Anna cracked a small smile. "Occasionally."

"Fair enough." Darcy almost smiled back—we all had our weaknesses. "And finally and most importantly: How do you feel about the male gender as a general populace?"

She could hear Rich snort from her perch, but Anna and Darcy remained locked in their serious conversation.

Anna stared at Darcy seriously. "They suck."

"Excellent. You're in."

* * *

By the time Anna had lugged all her stuff, one carload at a time over the span of about three weeks, we'd managed to fill our recycling bin with conspicuously empty wine bottles and bonded over countless nights on our leather couch googling Jon Hamm's penis.

"Question: is this dress trashy?"

I looked up from my Vonnegut novel to see Anna standing in my doorway, a dress still on it's hanger wedged around her neck so it hung loosely across the front of her body, falling about a foot above her knees.

"Follow-up question: are you going to be paid upfront by the strip club or only on a tip-basis?" I asked, smirking at her.

She purses her lips, slightly frustrated. "It's that short?"

I nod solitarily. "I can almost see your ovaries."

She puffs out a breath of frustration and falls unhappily onto my bed beside me. "God, I'm so bad at this. They should teach you valid life skills in college. Like tax returns, and what dresses are wedding appropriate."

I grin and tuck my hair onto the other side of my head so I can look at her, sprawled miserably beside me.

Living with Anna for the past three weeks had actually turned out to be fairly exciting. I hadn't been forced to make new friends since freshman year. It was an experiment in sociability that was proving most interesting. Turns out, I can be a moderately nice human being when forced. But the best part of Anna was that she'd grown up with Rich and nothing I could do would possibly offend her. This abject, natural inclination towards honesty had put us on wonderfully equal footing. Once the more Disney (she sings to birds. Like really? No one actually sings to birds!) aspects of her personality had been curbed by my natural cynicism; we'd realized we'd get along famously.

"So you're going to a wedding?" I asked, as she groaned in frustration and attempted the extract her head from the coat hanger.

She finally got the thing off her head and flung it unceremoniously across my bedroom. "Yeah, Matt's. You know, one of Rich's roommates? The quiet one. Rich wants to take me so he can prey on unsuspecting, desperate girls. It's like he thinks he's a character in a Vince Vaughn movie."

I grinned. "He does have his skeezy moments."

The biggest downfall to living with Anna was that Rich now felt it was his brotherly right to come over unannounced and clear out as much food from our fridge as was physically possible. Anna didn't seem to think much of this, but I was contemplating writing my name passive-aggressively on all my food or maybe changing the locks. All I know is that it's mostly upsetting to get out of the shower and find someone who hadn't been there previously lazing on your couch eating all your chips.

As if on cue, we both hear our front door open and close and simultaneously groan, rolling our eyes at each other. "Speak of the devil," I mutter under my breath while Anna rolls over and muffles her giggles face first into my pillow.

"Hel-_lo_, ladies," Rich said, squirming his way through my door just as I tried, unsuccessfully, to slam it in his face and wedging his unwelcome form into my bedroom. "Mind if I come in?"

I roll my eyes at him and try not to growl while Anna continues to giggle into my pillows. "What if we'd been naked in here?" I ask, staring at him coldly.

His eyebrows just shoot up and a Cheshire grins crosses his features. "Well, you wouldn't want me to miss the show, would you?"

Anna sits up. "Gross. I'm your sister."

"You were adopted."

"We shared a womb, you idiot."

"And I've been emotionally scarred ever since."

I interrupt before one of their infamous sibling squabbles can break out (just yesterday I cam home to find Anna sitting on Rich's chest, battering him with his own arms while simultaneously commanding him to stop hitting himself). "Why are you even here, Rich?"

Rich makes a deep sighing noise, and flops down on my bed, almost crushing poor little Anna in the process. She smacks him on the stomach in retribution, but he doesn't even flinch, rather stretching himself out lazily across my bed and fluffing my pillows under his head. "Can't a guy just drop by and see his two favorite women unwarranted?"

Anna and I'd eyes meet and we both simultaneously roll our eyes skeptically.

"How utterly benevolent of you, Richie dear. While you're here," Anna begins, smirking at her brother mischievously, "would you mind horribly doing a few things us poor, little, helpless, women can't seem to do for ourselves?"

I light flashes from behind my eyes like a toaster-oven going off with a ding! "Oh, yes, please, big strong male, could you save us from these difficult manly activities?"

Rich sits up, cracking his knuckles happily. "Have no fear, ladies. Just call me Prince Charming."

* * *

An hour later and we've coerced Richard into snaking our bathtub drain, changing all the outdoor light bulbs and cleaning the filters on the dishwasher while Anna and I sat nearby sipping strawberry margaritas and cheering on his grumbling masculinity.

"You two are evil," we hear him grumble from his knees, his upper body almost entirely obscured by the dishwasher.

Anna and I almost collapse on the floor in giggles, impressed that we've managed to keep him at it for so long and also giddy from the margaritas. Rich crawls back out of the dishwasher and collapses from exhaustion on our kitchen floor, pressing his reddened face against our cool tile floor.

"Malicious. You're horrible, horrible people and I hate you," he continues to grumble.

"Well. That's what you get for eating all our food!" Anna almost shouts back, having lost control over the volume of her voice after the second margarita and sticking her tongue out at her brother.

I suck down the rest of my glass before hopping unsteadily to my feet and proclaiming my need or another round.

"Can I at least have one now?" Rich asks, face still pressed to the floor. "I think I've earned it."

I reach down and pat him on the head like a puppy as I cross by towards the blender. "Good boy," I chuckles as I head off and begin dumping stuff unceremoniously into our blender. I finish and take a sip, tasting my concoction with a wince before shrugging and pouring it into cups for Rich, Anna and I. I try to hand him his, while he feebly attempts to hoist himself up before finally giving up. I place his cup beside his head and he holds up a weary thumbs-up of appreciation.

Anna and I head into the living room to perch ourselves happily on the couch and begin to browse through the latest array of Disney movies to arrive on our Netflix account. We still haven't settled on anything in particular when Rich wanders into the room with his margarita, staring deeply into the contents.

"How much booze did you put in this, Darcy?" he asks, looking up to eye me hesitantly.

I shrug. "What? Was I supposed to measure? I just pour until it looks pretty."

Rich grins at me and takes a sip of his drink with a wince. "It's revolting."

"Drink up, Frat Boy," I command.

"You're one of a kind, Darcy. Truly."

"I like her," Anna slurs from the other end of the couch while Rich joins us, plopping himself down directly between us.

"You got my sister plastered by 5 pm on a Sunday."

I grin. "Whoops." I throw a shrug in there and blink at him innocently to which he only responds with a chuckle.

"Did she tell you about Matt's wedding in a few weeks?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, she's struggling to find a dress. I'm sure she'll manage though."

"I like you two becoming friends," he says, his voice dropping as he looks over at his sister, who has drifted off to sleep, hear head against the arm of the couch, and is snoring softly. "She's never really had a ton of female friends."

I nod slowly. "Girls can be bitches."

He prods my arm. "And girls who pretend to be bitches can actually be pretty awesome." He grins at me playfully.

"Don't go saying shit like that, Rich, or I might have to start actually being nice to people."

"Don't balk," he orders gently. "You're a pretty cool girl, Darcy. Defensive as fuck, but pretty cool."

"What are you getting at here?" I ask, eyeing him skeptically, unable to feel comfortable in his analysis.

"Oh, I just need a tiny favor—and before you say no, just hear me out!"

I wince but motion for him to continue.

"A good friend's date just pulled out of attending Matt's wedding and we think maybe it'd be good for him to have a last-minute replacement. You know, no one should have to face that shit alone and whatnot. Especially on the tail-end of a break-up."

I wince again. "'Last-minute replacement?' You sure know how to flatter a girl."

He knocks my shoulder. "Come on. It'll be fun. All expenses paid. Fun little road trip. He's in the wedding so you won't even have to spend too much time doing the whole—"

"Pity date thing?"

Rich shrugs. "Essentially, yeah. But Anna and I will be there. It will be cool, I promise. You and her can even have your own hotel room."

I take a deep breath.

"Anna would probably really appreciate having a female ally. It would mean a lot to her."

"Low blow." I scowl at him, but look over at poor little, Disney Princess, Anna. Maybe it wouldn't be so horrible? To make new friends for a change. I take another deep breath. "Yeah… I guess that could be—" I wince again— "fun?"

Rich grins. "Awesome! You're the best! I'll tell Ethan tomorrow that he'll be covered." He grins at me wickedly and my mouth drops open in shock as I try immediately to protest, but I can tell he's already won.

That evil bastard.

"You're really going to trick me into being Ethan Bennett's date to a wedding."

"Yup." He nods happily.

"Fuck."

* * *

_I'm alive! Yayyyyyy! You can thank my boyfriend for getting into a huge fight with me and causing me to hide out in a coffee shop all day for the creation of this chapter. I'm sorry it has been so effing long! (Also said boyfriend's fault) since I last posted. I'm going to make a point of getting back into again though. I promise!_

_Reviews always help speed things along. Don't let me make it another 4 (5?) months! Please. Encouragement is necessary!_

_Hope you enjoyed it_


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